


Sanity Slippage

by evilever_green



Series: A Steep Descent [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Drug Use, Episode: s02e03 Bloodlust, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Family, First Time, Fluff and Crack, Hurt/Comfort, Hypnotism, Incest, Language, M/M, Psychic Abilities, Psychology, Repression, Romance, Slice of Life, Subtext, subtle, wound care
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-26
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-01-26 13:45:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 37
Words: 54,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1690457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilever_green/pseuds/evilever_green
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><br/>
</p>
<h5>

He can't let his brother slip into darkness. But Sam neglects his own transformation...

</h5><p>
  <sub><sup><span class="small">—Or, how overwhelming affection between two brothers manifested sexually, what it changed, and what it didn't change: A story of reticence woven into the canon S2 storyline.—</span></sup></sub>
</p><p>
  <sub>Part 1 of 4.</sub>
</p><p>♠</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. S2E03

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ArtsyPoopy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtsyPoopy/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SamxDean slash. Could get messy. Shifts perspective—no omniscience. Told between episodes [Season 2, see chapters for specifics] with careful consideration to canon mood/content. Intended to be highly plausible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This story makes reference to episodes listed at the beginning of each chapter, but does not include episode recaps/explanations—If you haven't seen these episodes in a while, the plot won't make as much sense.**
> 
> [Ch. 1-4] Beta'ed by [FaeGentry](http://archiveofourown.org/users/FaeGentry). Remaining mistakes are mine

 

 

[ _Set after Season 2, Ep. 3 – "Bloodlust"_ ]

...

_Sam had felt reassured, confident even, after Dean had let the nest go. Dean would be okay. Now he wasn't so sure._

_Less than 48 hours later, they'd tracked down a skinwalker. Sam didn't know where Dean had gotten the silver knife, but he'd felt incredible déjà vu as he watched his older brother torture the thing, trying to extract information about its companion. Dean had only stopped when Sam bellowed his name. He'd given Dean a warning look, but it wasn't enough. At some point, they'd have to talk about it._

_Driving back to the motel, Sam tried to speak his mind. He'd started by saying Dean's name. Dean spat back, "What?" He probably knew what Sam was going to say but... somehow it had to be said._

...

Dean got out of the car and slammed the door. Sam sat in the passenger's seat, gathering his thoughts. Dean didn't wait for him.

He had to get Dean to talk... but if he put his guard up right away, there would be no chance of them getting anywhere. And Dean would be pissed until they found something else to kill, after which the argument would be dismissed with another "you're still a pain in my ass" and Sam would again lose the courage to discuss it.

The red light from the motel's sign began to give Sam a headache.

_I'm a coward_ , he thought, looking at the peeling number 13 on the door Dean had left slightly ajar. But what if...? Dean could lose his mind like this. He doesn't trust me with his feelings, always acting the role of a tough older brother. What if he stops... No. _Think, Sam_. When we were driving through Iowa he hinted at how he'd opened up to Gordon in the bar... would alcohol loosen his tongue? Or would it still be me? We seldom drink together, but it's worth a shot. We could do shots... no, that would be too obvious. Beer's more casual. Or whiskey... is whiskey casual? _Stop it, Sam_. Just take action before you lose your nerve. All you have to do is figure out what's going on in his head, then decide the rest from there. _Don't over-think this._

Sam closed the door softly, and stood next to it, tentative. Dean was sprawled across the bedspread, searching on the laptop. Their dad's journal was lying next to him.

"What are you up to?" Sam started.  _Very smooth,_ he thought.

"Lookin' for Waldo." He didn't glance up from the screen, where he was scrolling through obituaries.

"So, uh, I thought I'd go grab something. Do─ do you need anything?"

"Like what?"

"I thought I'd grab some... whiskey."

"Whiskey?" Dean looked up, frowning slightly.  _Damn, his stare is piercing._

"Yeah." Sam stood his ground. He half expected Dean to mock him for squandering his college years on studying, but the usual quips had been absent lately.

Dean gazed at him for a second. His look was unreadable, but there seemed to be a question in his eyes. Then he shrugged. "Okay," he said, and went back to his search.

Sam nodded awkwardly, not even flinching at the way Dean gave him permission like he was still a child. He was sitting outside in the car before he realized he didn't have the keys. He went back in, careful not to let his frustration show.

"I, uh, forgot the keys."

Dean fished them out of his pocket and tossed them. Sam fumbled. "Ah..." he exhaled, bending over to pick them up.

When he looked up, Dean was looking straight at him, brows furrowed. "Sammy, what...?"

"It's nothing." Sam said, too quickly. He winced internally.

Dean got out of bed and padded over to him. "Hey Sam... you good? You've been off since Iowa."

Sam looked at him incredulously.

"Dude, come on. I can tell."

"No," Sam explained coherently.

"What, all of a sudden you can't trust me? I'm still your brother, man. If it's about what happened back there─"

"That's not what it is, Dean, I've... I've been having nightmares again."

"So that means whiskey? Since when do you drink away your problems?"

"I don't, it's just... I thought, maybe if I sleep deeper, I won't remember them?"

Dean stared.  _He doesn't believe me,_ Sam thought. But then, to his surprise, "Huh... I guess that's not a bad idea. I saw a grocery store about half a mile down."

"Why don't you come out with me?" Sam's voice was low.

Dean looked at him again.

_Is he on to me, or is he doing that to make me_ think _he's on to me and trick me into telling?_

"Yeah, all right," Dean said casually.

_Maybe it's the latter. Wonder when he picked that up_ , Sam frowned.

_..._

They pulled up to a seedy joint just as it started to rain. Dean pushed on Sam's back, telling him to walk faster. Sam walked more slowly on purpose, and Dean swatted him. They rushed through the door, grinning.

The bartender eyed them sanctimoniously.

Dean spread his hands, instigating. "What?" he challenged the bartender.

"... I'll get to you boys in a minute..." The bartender turned and started towards a woman seated in a darkened corner, muttering the rest under his breath," _...yah couple a' queers_."

Dean heard him. "Ey! You say that to my face, you son-of-a-"

"Easy, Dean," Sam murmured, restraining him.

Dean shrugged him off and plopped down on a bar stool with a clatter. He gazed at the oily surface of the bar in a relaxed but slightly murderous way.

...

Dean drank quite a bit. Sam didn't say much, still nursing his first one, but let Dean chat up a busty lady sitting two seats over.

Then, suddenly, "Dean. Dean!" he hissed.

"What? What is it?" Dean followed the direction of Sam's eyes to the figure in the far corner, sitting by herself. She was looking straight back at them and her eyes—

_They were completely black._

It was as if her pupils had dilated past the irises and engulfed even the whites of her eyes.

"Shit," Dean said, and lunged in her direction. She slid lithely out the window, with Sam and Dean on her tail. They splashed down into a rainy alley.

"Which way did she go?" Dean asked.

"Behind you!"

Dean turned just in time to get punched in the face, which sent him flying backwards. She held out her hand and he was pinned to the brick wall.

Sam held a gun to the back of her head and thought,  _Hail Mary._

She laughed. "A gun won't kill me. But I guess you boys know that."

"This isn't just any gun," Sam said, setting his jaw and cocking the hammer.

Suddenly her eyes rolled back and a black cloud was ejected from her mouth, skyward. The woman dropped, but Sam caught her.

She blinked. "What?" she choked.

"It's okay. You're going to be okay."

...

Dean rolled his eyes. "Pretending you still had the Colt... I can't believe she bought it."

Sam grinned. He knew Dean was impressed.

"Still wanna get that  _whiskey_?" Dean licked his bottom lip teasingly.

"I'd say you've had enough."

"Yeah, but... you haven't!"

The black Impala skidded off into the rain.

...

Dean punched his little brother in the arm, but lost his balance when he did it. Sam, who had barely had anything to drink, caught him and guided him safely past the peeling number 13. Impulsively, perhaps unconsciously hoping to win brownie points, he pressed against Dean's chest, forcing him to sit on the front table while Sam untied his shoes for him.  _Maybe he's in the mood to talk_ , Sam thought. That was optimistic considering the way Dean had stumbled up the stairs.

Dean raised his eyebrows, but let him continue. He did not, however, let Sam guide him to bed. Sam sat down on the bedspread by his knee.

Dean held up his hands. "The fuck, Sam? You trying to make up for playing prince charming back there?" He was grinning slightly, but his eyes said he was only half-joking.

"Ever since Dad... Look I don't know, man. I just want you to feel like you can talk to me."

"Oh, so that's what this is about? You're such a girl, Sammy." Dean turned on his side, pressing his face against the pillow and pushing into Sam's back with his knee.

"Do I still get that free punch?"

"Okay, all right, all right, I'll share my feelings!" Dean sounded about as sarcastic as was humanly possible.

Sam waited expectantly, not entirely sure of where this was going.

"Well I'm not going to say it  _out loud_ , it's a secret!" Dean beckoned him closer with his hand, smiling a little  _too_  happily. His posture was almost suggestive.

Sam regarded him seriously. "You're drunk, Dean." Dean drank regularly, but getting drunk to the point of acting silly just didn't happen often.  _Great_.  _My plan worked a little_ too  _well, now he can't talk at all._ He rolled his eyes at himself, but tuned back in to hear Dean speaking. _  
_

"...ah, hell, Sammy, it's not like I'm gonna say anything you don't already know. But, hey, if you don't wanna hear it..."

Sam immediately leaned down to hear the secret.

Dean took a deep breath.

"WE'RE BROTHERS!" he yelled.

Sam jumped back, scowling and massaging his ear. "Dude, what the fuck?!"

"Sorry, I had to get your ear ready for what I'm actually about to say." He didn't look sorry at all.

"Get up, I'm taking my free punch now." Sam grabbed him roughly and pulled him up. Dean shoved his hand off and elbowed him in the chest in one fluid, expert motion, sending him down onto the bed with a soft thud. Dean stood dizzily over him, and Sam kicked his shin, pulling himself up so he could grab Dean and pummel him. Dean blocked his first shot but his second glanced off his mouth. It hadn't been hard but his tooth cut the corner of his lip, and tiny beads of blood welled up.

Sam hesitated.

In the moment of hesitation, Dean threw him back onto the bed and straddled him, fist raised over his head. Sam blinked up at him.

"Ah, fuck." Dean said, and lowered his fist. "You really wanna hear the secret?"

Sam nodded.

"Well, I'm still not gonna say it out loud, so come closer," Dean said, unsmiling.

Sam looked wary.

"Oh come on, I promise I won't shout in your ear this time."

_I'm a fool if I fall for this again_ , he thought. But, on the off-chance that Dean was going to confess his thoughts, Sam propped himself up awkwardly, hips still pinned, hands splayed behind him. He leaned in again.

"Fuck you," Dean whispered.

"What?" Sam said, and started to pull away, but Dean grabbed him, keeping him close.

Sam looked into his eyes, a little startled. He thought,  _what...?_  The angle of the lamplight across Dean's face made his irises look clear, his face beautiful, almost gentle, lips slightly parted. But there was something wild in his brother's expression, something he couldn't quite place. Recklessness? Was this the look of a man on death row? Someone who had given up, convicted himself? Sam didn't know what was going on.  _Where'd he get eyes like that?_ Sam wondered vaguely. He didn't know what Dean was playing at, but he had a bad feeling about it.

Dean pressed one hand into Sam's chest, right where his heart was. It... _ached_ , somehow. Then he leaned toward his ear, hopefully, this time, to tell him what was on his mind.

Dean's long eyelashes brushed his cheek lightly, sending a tingling sensation down his neck. Slowly, so slowly that Sam was aware of an increase in his own heart rate and respiratory rate, Dean turned to face him, so close that their noses were almost touching. Sam had just enough time to think,  _what kind of game is this?_   When Dean moved closer, he pressed into him with his whole body.

Dean's lips were very soft, and tasted like salt.

...


	2. Switch

 

 

Dean kissed his brother gently at first, giving him ample time to pull away. But Sam was definitely kissing him back. As the kisses deepened, he noticed how warm the inside of Sam's mouth was, how he sat up straighter, no longer leaning back on his arms but holding Dean's hips tentatively, pushing back up against him.

_Ah, I hate waiting,_  Dean thought as he slid his hand down Sam's chest, feeling the firm musculature through his soft t-shirt. He felt Sam stiffen below him.

"Wait," Sam said, pulling away. His pupils were dilated, breathing was heavy, and he looked... in pain.  _Fuck,_ Dean thought, still straddling him. Sam was clearly turned on, so...

"What do you want me to wait for? Hell, everyone thinks we're already doing it."

"So that means we might as well?!" Sam set his lips into a thin line, eyes focused on some patch of air in front of Dean's navel. Dean could almost hear him thinking.

_Oh, I bet this is driving you_ nuts, _isn't it?_ Dean thought. He smiled. "Yeah," he answered nonchalantly. Then he added, "you look like you want to."

Sam launched himself upwards, grabbing the inside of Dean's knee and flipping him onto his back. Dean's breath caught at the sight of Sam panting, nostrils flared, pressing him down.  _There's what I want to see,_ Dean thought.  _But damn, does the room have to spin around my head like that... stupid fucking room... Ha... Sammy's literally going to be a pain in my ass..._ Dean started to chuckle softly as the line he'd used countless times took on a new meaning.

Sam stared at him in disbelief.

Dean squeezed his thighs together, holding Sam's hips still. He took one of Sam's hands, Sam looking on in confusion, and guided it downward. Sam realized what he was feeling, and pulled back. In a second he was off the bed and backing away a few paces. He looked like he was searching for the right words, cheeks flushed with... anger? Lust?

After a second, "You've really, seriously lost it, Dean! This isn't..." Then he looked tormented. He touched his lips, which were still tingling from how gentle that kiss was... he looked down at his fingers and saw Dean's blood. Dean's lower lip was still bleeding. Then he seemed to realize he was physically turned on, and ran to the bathroom, slamming the door.

Dean lay spread-eagled on the bed. He vaguely thought that he should release the pressure in his lower abdomen. He massaged himself halfheartedly.

...

Sam was in the bathroom a long time. When he finally emerged, Dean was standing in the doorway, looking more sober.

Dean blocked his path.  _Better to settle this now,_ he thought. "You never really punched me. Come on, hit me once, nice and hard."

" _That's_ what this is about?"

"Yeah, come on. You'll feel better, I promise." Dean looked directly at him.

"That's why you..." Sam lowered his voice, "you  _kissed_ me?!"

Dean grimaced. "Yeah, right, exactly. Now hit me, Sammy!"

Sam gritted his teeth. "No, Dean," he said, and brushed past him. Dean felt the air go out of his chest. He closed the bathroom door and looked at the familiar setup blankly for a second before turning on the shower. He twisted the knob all the way to "H."

...

Sam made it obvious he was going to bed, and lay down on the other mattress, facing away from him. But what Dean heard next was as clear as if Sammy were right next to him.

"I hope Dad's not a spirit, because if he saw what we just did..." Sam's voice broke.

Dean closed his eyes. "Dad's gone, Sam. He's already moved on. I don't have to be  _psychic_  to know that."

Dean didn't mention his gnawing suspicion that John Winchester might be rotting in hell.

Dean lay awake for a long time.

...

He had only just dozed off when a sudden weight on one side of his bed caused him to roll slightly. Dean had the strong sensation that he was falling very fast, about to hit the ground as he woke up. He took a second to orient himself, then looked at Sam with relief.

"Mm, hey. What's up, Sammy?" He rubbed his aching head.

"Dean... about earlier," Sam started, softly.

Dean froze. He suddenly felt very awake.

"Look Sam..."

"Yeah?"

Dean was struck by Sam's posture: open, respectful, listening. "I was pretty smashed earlier. I did some stupid things. Just wanted to say I'm sorry and... it won't happen again."

Sam paused. "...Right, of course not," he said, looking a little crestfallen.

Dean squinted at him.  _What the hell is with that look?_  he thought, getting up.

Before he could walk away, Sam hugged him, wrapping his arms around him from behind.

"What the fuck, Sam," Dean growled, struggling a little, but Sam held him firmly. After a minute he hissed, "I'm not a freakin' chick, Sam, so you can stop that." Sam didn't pay any attention. Dean struggled a little more, but then gave up and stood there, making a face.

Sam's body felt big and warm against his back.  _Goddammit_ , he thought as Sam nuzzled the back of his neck.  _God-fucking-dammit._ He got goosebumps as Sam moved his hips closer. "Look, I have to pee."

Sam let go. "I think we should go see our family," he called after Dean, who stalked off.

_What family? You're my only family,_  Dean thought.   _What the hell did I start?_

_..._


	3. S2E04

 

 

 

 

[ _Set after Season 2, Ep. 4 - "Children Shouldn't Play with Dead Things"_ ]

...

Dean kept having this dream where he was digging in the earth with his hands, clawing into the clammy soil like some savage beast, ripping up roots, flinging buried bullets and charred bones. When he got to the core of the planet the soil became greasy and hot, scalding his knuckles, but he kept digging. He unearthed his father's face. He must have looked half-wild - John Winchester stared up at him with a mixture of recognition and concern. He was ready to grasp his father's hand, to pull him out of the pit, when John's eyes turned yellow. Dean was paralyzed by those eyes; he felt his knees sinking into a churning mass of flesh and chains. He was going to fall in, and the yellow-eyed demon would laugh a cold, manipulative villain laugh. Suddenly, "Stairway to Heaven" blasted through some loudspeaker down below, and they both looked around, startled by how fucking _random_ it was. When Dean looked back, his father's eyes were warm and brown again, but they weren't _right_. They were choking, blistering, and they said,  _You should have killed me then, Dean, and spared me this agony. You disobeyed me._ Then his eyes squeezed shut in pain, and he was consumed by the boiling, flowing redness. Dean woke up with those eyes burnt into his retinas.

The wildness he had felt after Dad's death was wearing off. In its place, Dean felt a hollow, jarring sensation that everything was  _too_ real.

It would have been easy to lose it. Hell, if anyone had ever had an excuse... but he didn't. He had to look out for Sam.

_Sam... I'm sorry. I fucked up, didn't I?_

A ghost of something, feather-soft, had crossed Dean's lips that night. That one awful night... the night after they'd pulled off the road. They'd leaned on the front of the Impala in the chilly mountain air. Around them, the cliffs darkened into silhouettes and the valleys were obscured by shadow. Dean had bared his soul and apologized for everything.

His lips still tingled. Nothing had happened for three days. The tension between them eased. They were brothers again.

...

Three nights ago, they had barged into the motel room, hardly bothering to close the door. The day had been tense, what with the heart-to-heart and no upcoming cases to distract them. They were still covered in zombie blood and grave dirt, and both had automatically started to strip and head for the shower. They met in the narrow alcove outside the bathroom door, and stared at each other stupidly for a second. Then Dean had smiled playfully, teasing that he got there first. Sam bit his lip but let Dean go, waving him into the bathroom with a smirk.

When Sam got out of the shower, Dean was still awake. He felt his brother come over to turn off the light, felt his cool shadow on his closed eyelids. Then Sam sat down on the edge of his bed for a minute.

Dean pretended to be asleep. He relaxed his eyelids and willed his breathing to remain slow and regular. He let his knuckles rest casually where they'd been pulled down into the dip Sam made when he sat on the edge of the bed. He calmed his muscles under the canopy of that sudden darkness. He wasn't even sure it was a kiss. Perhaps it was a shadow, or a dream.

But he felt responsible.

...

_Baring his soul._  It was stupid... People shouldn't have to  _say_ those things... The car ride from that mountain road had been so quiet that Dean had actually pondered the acceptable limits of awkwardness and sentimentality. And he didn't do that wishy-washy, theoretical crap.

After being appropriately serious for way too long, Sam had relaxed. He'd gotten what he wanted. They'd "sung their Kumbaya-yas," so to speak.  _Pain in the ass_.  So help him, Dean was compelled by some powerful force to make sure Sammy always got what he wanted.

As they drove through flat countryside, Sam had rambled on about their fucked up childhood and about not being able to have a steady relationship with anyone else while they were on the road. Dean had only been half-listening... whatever the point was, he was too worn out to care.

Then it got weird.

Sam started saying how he needed to take care of Dean instead of vice versa. Dean had protested, because, dude, birth order, so Sam went into this whole speech about how Dean needed a refuge, someone to talk out his problems with... he could have sworn Sam even said something in Latin, like "conflicting emotional imperatives" or some shit... Which was freakin' bizarre, since Sam was usually very in tune with Dean's... _whatever_. But right now, everything Sam was saying was way off. He was getting confused by that emotional crap. Dean was the oldest, and he was going to take care of Sammy. End of story. Three minutes later (when he was finally done), Sam looked disappointed again. So much for all that talking.

Dean was pissed for at least another hour, until Sam gave him a sympathetic look which pushed him over the edge. They exchanged playful blows and got something to eat and checked into the motel.

Their lips had barely brushed. Dean hadn't had time to shiver under Sam's cool heat before he was gone, over to the other bed, his own space. So what was that? A goodnight kiss?

_What the hell?_

...

Dean's body hadn't reacted the way it should've to a chaste kiss from his little brother.

_I'm going to hell for this. Well, Dad, save me a seat. You're never gonna believe what I did... No, nothing stupid and heroic... Nothing like you. That's what you did, isn't it? Jeez, Dad, I was never... Shit._

_You know how you told me to take care of Sammy? Boy did I ever screw_ that  _one up._

He didn't actually spend time worrying about this stuff, but if he had, there would have been two things on his mind. Well, besides the world needing saving and Dean's personal responsibility to avenge his family by destroying that yellow-eyed creep.

First, Dean's temporary lapse of judgment had given Sam some dangerous ideas. He may have rejected Dean's advances on that booze-clouded night, but he'd woken up in Illinois with a different attitude. Sam may as well have stood up and said,  _Why don't we do this? Not like our lives could get any weirder._  Dean didn't have to ponder the state of things to know that he wouldn't let them go  _there._ But, as much as he'd like to ignore it, Sam had this quiet persistence... What a pain in the ass.

Second, Sam didn't need to worry about Dean's mental stability. At least, not anymore. But there was still a terrifying question in the back of Dean's mind...

_What the hell would he have done without Sam?_


	4. S2E05

 

 

 

[ _Set after Season 2, Ep. 5 - "Simon Said"_ ]

...

It had been a long day, but they stayed up for hours anyway, drinking and discussing hunting, psychics, and demons with Ellen. She was a great source of both info and lore, and Sam found that he really enjoyed her company. Ellen loved Jo fiercely, which Sam admired. He liked Jo, too, though he couldn't help but get kinda pissed when he thought about her flirting with Dean; admittedly because she was pretty and... energetic. And maybe he thought she could match Dean's fast-paced lifestyle more naturally than he could. But it didn't matter─ Dean had been downright cold to her, treating her like a kid with a crush. Which was fine by Sam.

As the alcohol severely slowed Sam's cognitive processes, he felt a big smile creep across his face. The Roadhouse had started to feel a little like home.

The night wore on. It was 0354 when Ellen was done with them. Sam looked at Dean sleepily, wondering if he could still drive. Then Ellen pressed a key into Sam's palm with a wink.

"Stay the day, you look tired. Take a good long rest before you hit the road again. Third door on the left, in the back." She paused, then added, "Nobody should bother you."

Sam's brow creased with confusion, but he smiled and nodded thanks.

"Yeah, thanks, Ellen." Dean said softly.

"Don't mention it." Her voice was a little husky. Sam wondered again what her relationship had been with John Winchester.

...

They tried to walk to the room like adults, but hardly made it through the door.

The combination of alcohol and lack of sleep had made Dean ornery. Sam turned around to look at Dean's face while they were walking, which was stupid because Dean slammed into him. Dean must have interpreted it as Sam hitting him or blocking the path intentionally.

Dean took a swing at Sam but missed and almost fell over. Then he spread his hands like a performer, playing it off with a big, cute smirk as if to say, 'Ta-da! That was completely intentional!'

Sam stopped in his tracks.  _So charming... it's infuriating,_ he thought.

Suddenly feeling exposed and horny, Sam unlocked the door quickly with one hand, slinging his other arm, cast and all, around Dean's waist, dragging him across the threshold, and slamming the door. He felt Dean's pissed-off, shocked expression trying to burn a hole through him. He ignored it, leaning his head back against the door in relief. The job didn't always leave him enough quiet time. In order to re-charge, Sam needed everyone to go away, except maybe Dean. He was pretty relaxed around Dean.

He looked over at Dean fondly. Dean was giving him a death glare.  _Yeah, he probably doesn't like the way I just manhandled him,_ Sam thought. That look only made him hornier, though. Dean was just so  _pissed._

Sam felt pure, genuine happiness wash over him.  _Or maybe was the alcohol?_  He couldn't help but grin. He grinned at Dean's angry face until it softened. Dean closed the distance between them in one step, and, grunting in annoyance, shoved Sam's head against the door with his palm, covering his eyes. It was meant to be rough, but didn't carry much force. Sam closed his eyes for a moment, picturing Dean stripping naked, spreading out in front of him. He wanted Dean to beg for it with those pretty lips, _god_... Instead, he wrapped his fingers gently around Dean's forearm and took Dean's hand off his eyes. Dean still looked like he meant business. Somehow that look was beautiful.

Sam lowered his eyes guiltily.

...

Dean pulled a bottle of something out of his jacket and Sam raised his eyebrows.

"I hope you didn't steal that from Ellen."

"Nah," Dean shrugged, grinning.

Sam wasn't convinced.

They should have gone straight to bed, considering how tired they were, but they stayed up even longer, sitting side by side on the mattress, drinking and talking.

After a while Dean got quiet. He put his hand on Sam's knee and said, "Hey, Sam, all that... Andy... and psychic shit... you good now?"

Sam thought about it. He wasn't  _good,_ he needed to know that Dean would take him out if he turned into a killer. But now didn't exactly seem like the right time to ask... he wanted Dean lucid, taking him seriously. He didn't want Dean to forget it.

He glanced down at Dean's hand resting on his leg. Come to think of it, Dean was touching him pretty casually, in light of everything that had happened between them in the past few weeks. He wondered if Dean was doing it innocently, or if he was feigning innocence to deliberately ignore the elephant in the room. Hmm.  _Dean's pretty good at repression,_ he thought.

Dean spoke up again. "Sam, there's no reason to think you're going to turn out like the other... psychics. 'Specially not 'Mad Max.'"

Surprised by a wave of nausea, Sam clenched his fists. "Why not? Andy and his brother were raised in separate homes, and both of them ended up..." he trailed off.

"Well, lucky for you,  _we_  weren't raised in separate homes." Dean said casually, wiggling his eyebrows.

"That's not funny, Dean. Look, I need to know... what would you do if _I_ became─"

"Hang on," Dean said as his cellphone rang. "It's Ellen." He showed Sam the text:

Y'all boys better be asleep by now, 'cause I'm waking you up when we open for the evening. And Dean, you're paying for that bottle. -E

"You  _did_ steal it," Sam tried not to smile.

"I borrowed it."

"Dean,  _turn eight._ "

"Whatever you say, baby."

Sam's eye twitched.

"Aww, Sammy, what's wrong?"

"You called me 'baby.' I'm not a kid, Dean."

"Maybe I meant baby, as in  _baby_ ," Dean grinned at him.

Sam winced. He thought of how vulnerable Dean had been in the days after he kissed him. "Stop flirting with me, seriously. You're not going to like what happens."

"What, did you use your freaky powers to spy on our future?"

Sam turned away. Dean was fun to be around... Sam didn't even mind being the butt of some of his jokes. He didn't mind cracks at his masculinity - he didn't have anything to worry about in that department. Gay jokes were fine, too, though the implications weren't quite as amusing lately. He didn't like it when Dean was patronizing or made him feel like a child much, since he was every bit as grown up as his brother, but even that was sort of par for their course. _But_  Dean should've known not to joke about how Sam was a freak of nature. It kinda hurt. Even more, now, since Dean had thought  _Andy_  was so cool.

Dean crouched on the floor in front of Sam's knees, looking up at him, the motion bringing Sam out of his alcohol-soaked thoughts. "You have no idea, Sam... I'd kill anyone who tried to hurt you, and I wouldn't even blink. And you think  _you're_  dangerous. It's cute," he scoffed, but his eyes were shiny.

Sam gazed at him, intrigued by his pale green eyes. He wanted to reach out and touch Dean's face, but Dean stood up before he could move.

"And your sense of morality is fucking nuts, by the way," Dean shook his head, unpacking his toothbrush.

...

They brushed their teeth, and Dean, rolling his eyes, fished some cash out of his wallet and went to leave it for Ellen. Sam sat on the edge of the bed, thinking.

When Dean came back, he stared at Sam's posture, unmistakably worried. Then he smiled and put his hand on Sam's shoulder.

"Time for bed, kiddo."

Sam nodded. He got up and went to sit on his own bed, then realized that there was only one bed in the room.

Dean must have noticed, too.

"Oh, Ellen, what the fuck," he heard Dean breathe.

"How did we not notice that?" Sam was amazed.

Dean looked lost for a moment. There wasn't really any other furniture in the room, and they were both exhausted.

"Um," Sam said.

"I'll sleep upside-down." Dean decided.

Sam grimaced. He didn't know how to respond, so he said sarcastically, "Yeah, no thanks. I'll have nightmares about your foot odor."

"My feet smell like roses."

Sam thought about the last time they'd slept trainspotting-style. Dean had a bad dream, kneed him in the face, and spent half the morning glancing guiltily at Sam's bloodied nose. He decided not to mention it, just said, "We've shared a bed before, Dean."

" _Ouch_ , you want me that bad? Sucks to be you."

Sam was about to retort when he saw the look in Dean's eyes. "Look, dude, I saw an armchair in the hallway. I'll pull it in and sleep there, so don't worry about it."

"Sure, that'll feel great, since we haven't gotten more than a couple hours of sleep in the past three states. Anyway, I don't want to deal with your cranky ass."

Sam sighed. "Can't we just sleep with our backs to each other?"

Dean froze for an instant, but recovered quickly. "Yeah, okay."

Sam got into the bed on the far side, sliding his socks around to untuck the covers, then rolling onto his right shoulder. He felt the mattress shift.  _Dean is not cool with this─_  Sam could feel it radiating off of him.

"Sam..."

"Yeah?"

"I am NOT gay."

"Yeah, okay." Because the gay thing was what he had a problem with. Totally.

Dean turned around and elbowed him, hard. "I'm  _serious,_ man," he said, looking directly at him.

"Okay. I know," Sam said gently. He cupped Dean's elbow to save his ribs from another attack. Dean grunted, but didn't pull away. Sam was suddenly aware of every place that their bodies were touching. Sam was lying on his back and Dean, on his right side, propping himself up with his left hand, fingers splayed against the mattress under Sam's back. Sam was holding Dean's elbow against his chest, while his left arm stretched out behind Dean's body. Dean's bent knee was pressed into the side of his leg. Not super erogenous zones or anything, but they were in bed together.

Dean's face, his arms, his white t-shirt, were shadowy and blue in the soft morning light. Time stopped for a minute. Then Dean rolled away, clearly rejecting the idea.

Sam thought about it for a while.  _It's so like Dean to start something sexual and then get cold feet._  But he wasn't some one-night girl that Dean had met in a bar. He knew Dean blamed himself for their father's death, and had acted out his frustration for a long time. Dean still wasn't okay... Sam could tell how defenseless Dean had felt after they talked. Dean got over it, though, and had acted more like himself since. He seemed to think that they were cool again, and it was okay to pretend nothing had happened, so he must have taken the one-bed situation as an affront, blaming Sam, though it had probably been an oversight on Ellen's part. Thanks to his obsession with brotherly duty, Dean probably felt guilty, too.  _He still doesn't trust me,_  Sam thought.

But Sam was powerfully attracted to Dean, both physically and emotionally. He felt the slow tension in his bones: the need to _know_ , to somehow figure out if Dean felt the same way.

He yawned. He felt Dean shuffling around and getting out of bed once, then all was quiet. He shut his eyes as the red dawn light filtered through the curtains.

...


	5. Several hours later...

 

 

 

 

 

[ _Several hours later..._ ]

...

Sam woke up completely disoriented. His brain started firing immediately in an exhausting way that made him want to go back to sleep. Headache, stomach didn't feel great either... but damn, he was completely rigid, and the aching bulge in his jeans was pressed against something soft and warm. He didn't want to open his eyes, so he felt gently. Someone's ass. His face nuzzled into the person's neck. Smelled nice, familiar...

Dean.

_I'm dreaming,_ Sam thought immediately, and pushed his leg between his brother's knees. But reality intruded. Dean curled his back against Sam's crotch and Sam jerked, surprised. His brother grabbed his hand, pulling it over his body. "Chill out, Sammy," he mumbled. "Feel like I gotta sedate you to get you to sleep quietly." The soft, unmodulated quality of his brother's voice cleared some of the cobwebs from Sam's head, and he began to assess the situation.

_Oh, fuck._

Sam kept perfectly still for several long moments. He  _wanted_ , but, despite his warmth, Dean had been giving him red lights all the way. Only now, Dean pulled Sam's hand low across his stomach. Sam scrunched his eyes closed and swore silently. He owed Dean hell for the lifetime of shit he'd put up with, but he didn't want to see that lost look in Dean's eyes again, when he realized what they'd done. 

_So how did this happen?_ Sam wondered, shifting carefully. He opened his eyes and sat up a little, squinting against the bright sunlight. Dean was fast asleep with his mouth open; wearing nothing but a pair of thin, grey boxer briefs, and they were  _spooning._ No wonder Sam had a hard-on.

Unfortunately, his brother did too.   _Just Morning wood_ , Sam's brain supplied quickly.  _Doesn't mean anything._ Then Dean shifted his ass against Sam's crotch again. He dug his fingers into Dean's stomach, hoping his brother would hold still. But Dean squirmed away from his touch, pushing his back flush against Sam's chest.  Suddenly, Sam's clothes felt unbearably constricting. "Gonna strip too," he said tightly, wincing as a ray of bright sunlight glanced off his brother's shoulder. The light was like salt in his eyes, and the glare of it stabbed through his brain, amping up his headache.

Sam tried not to move too much as he unzippered his jeans, but had to wiggle around a bit to free himself from the right leg of his pants. He finally got them down past his knees, then pulled them off with his toes, kicking them off the bed. Dean stirred, but continued to sleep.

Sam was still uncomfortable, so he pulled his underwear and shirt off too.

Deciding that he wasn't going to do anything weird, just hold him, he settled down behind Dean's back, nudging Dean's heavy legs further apart with his knee. Feeling guilty as hell, he pushed his dick along the underside of Dean's ass and between his parted thighs, pulling back a little when he brushed against Dean's scrotum through the thin fabric. He closed his eyes and let out a breath, trying to calm down, before sliding his arm under Dean's, holding him close. He pressed his chest into Dean's hot, smooth back and his face into his hair. He nuzzled him gently, letting Dean's soft, buzzed hairs tickle his face.

Sam closed his eyes and breathed in Dean's scent. It was a little overwhelming, being so close, after all the times he'd thought about it - his body burned and he saw fireworks against the insides of his eyelids.

_Great,_ he thought,  _it's like puberty all over again._

His erection was literally throbbing between Dean's legs. Within ten seconds, he realized that he was way too horny to be in this position and not move. He resolved to go to the bathroom soon, though he very badly wanted to stay where he was. He shifted his hips forward, cock accidentally nudging Dean's balls again, harder this time. He paused, heart pounding, waiting for him to wake up. Miraculously, nothing happened.

He propped himself up, looking down at Dean's face, admiring the curves of his chest and arms, which were covered in goosebumps. He lightly kissed Dean's shoulder, and ran his eyes down Dean's body. Dean's erection was tenting his boxers.

Sam frowned. "Are you awake?" he murmured as quietly as possible.

Dean raised his eyebrows without opening his eyes, clearly trying not to smile. "Nope," he said confidently.

Sam's head throbbed, headache fever-strong. He had Dean on his back in a second, kissing him hard and grinding against him, holding his legs apart. Dean kissed him back fervently, biting his lips and licking his tongue. Then he shoved Sam's face away. "Stop... I- I want you to stop," he panted.

Sam was breathing hard, but he pulled back a little. He gazed at Dean's face.  _Yeah, definitely turned on. So pretty._ Dean's hand on his chin stilled him, and he ducked his head to press a sloppy kiss against his brother's palm.

"Such a girl," Dean breathed, but his eyes were too riveted for it to sound like anything but a compliment. Letting go of Sam's chin, he twisted his fingers hard through Sam's hair, like he meant for it to hurt. Sam pushed forward, Dean tugging his hair, and pressed several open-mouthed kisses into the soft flesh on Dean's neck. He licked Dean's lips open and kissed him deeply. His heart raced, throbbing in time with the sunlight and his headache and his aching erection. 

"Not- _Sammy_ \- Not like this..." Dean said between kisses.

"Why, 'cause we're here?"

" _No_ ," Dean growled. Sam didn't understand, but stopped kissing him to let him talk. Dean was silent, running his hands down Sam's chest in admiration. Sam didn't think his brother had ever looked at him like that before, and was overcome... he pressed Dean's legs back, so his feet were up in the air, kissing the inside of his calves and grinding his dick against his ass.

Before Sam knew what was happening, Dean had used some wrestling move - wrapping one leg around Sam's back and flipping their positions. He used his other knee to roll Sam onto his stomach, digging that knee into Sam's back, holding him down. Then Dean twisted Sam's good arm around behind his back, and cranked it, hard. The whole operation took about three seconds.

"Ah," Sam inhaled sharply, tapping out so Dean wouldn't dislocate his shoulder.

"Then  _listen,_ " he hissed, letting go.

"I didn't know what you meant!"

"Never- not like that."

Sam groaned into the pillow. "You're torturing me, Dean..."

Dean was breathing hard, his knee still wedged against Sam's spine. "Maybe... maybe I do want to kiss you. But Sam, you follow _my_ lead."

Sam struggled for a minute, pain shooting through his head, then managed to roll over so he could face him. Dean was still pretty horny, and looked magnificent sitting on top of him. Sam felt another surge of attraction, then shook his head. "Be more specific. Tell me what you didn't like."

Dean just frowned at him, looking very tired. Sam noticed bluish circles under his eyes, and remembered how they'd gotten into this situation, all-bare in the sunlight.

"Why'd you take your pants off last night?"

Dean blinked. "What? Come on, man, I can't sleep in jeans! Friggin' uncomfortable. And hot."

_Dean falls asleep fully-clothed on a regular basis._ Suddenly, Sam understood. "It's because you don't want to... um," Sam wondered how to put it. "You don't want to be the chick." _  
_

"Ssh- the fuck, Sam?!" Dean said, clapping his hand over Sam's mouth.

"'Mm I right?" Sam's voice was muffled.

Dean just looked at him, brows furrowed, eyes serious. "I don't know," he said.

Turned out, the uncertainty in his eyes was more arousing than painful.  Sam dug his toes into the mattress, frustrated.

"Uou-mm." Dean spread his fingers so Sam could talk. "You think..." He was going to say,  _You think chicks are vulnerable?_ , but he realized the answer was no. He had always been Dean's charge... 'birth order,' as Dean put it. In the blinding sunlight, he could feel the weight of Dean's responsibility, and it struck him as unfair. He shifted his hips as he considered arguing, but between his headache and his brother's weight on him, he could barely string two thoughts together.

"Fine," he said. "Tell me what to do."

...

Sam was thirsty, dizzy, exhausted, and happier than he'd been in years. He had sat up and rubbed his nose into Dean's cheek, then slowly started kissing him again. This time, Dean didn't pull back. Dean had straddled him and they did it together; Sam squeezing his hand around both of them and Dean throwing one arm around the back of Sam's neck, pulling him close, while Sam licked the salty sweat off Dean's collarbone, beside his amulet. They came almost simultaneously. Dean collapsed on his back beside Sam, who leaned over him for a deep, breathless kiss. They fell asleep in each other's arms, and didn't wake up for a long time.

...

The rapping on the door got louder. Sam woke up groggily, head splitting open. The green digital clock read 2030.

"You boys better open up 'fore I break this door down." Ellen's voice.

"Coming," Sam croaked.

He shook Dean awake, kissed him lightly on the forehead, and started pulling his clothes on. He flipped the sheets, looking for dried semen, and counting his blessings that they'd had a t-shirt handy. Sam was fully dressed and Dean stood there, naked, rubbing his eyes.

"I'm going to count to ten," Ellen said sternly.

Dean's eyes widened, and his jeans were on in a second. He pulled open the door, and Sam started packing their bags.

"I didn't order pizza," he said to Ellen.

Sam shook his head.  _Jerk_ _,_ he thought, walking over to them. "Thanks for the room, Ellen," he said with an apologetic smile, hair in his eyes.

Ellen was glaring at Dean. "If you wanna stay tonight, it'll have to be in the loft... I need this room. And," Ellen said reluctantly, "Jo said she has something to show you." Her eyes bored through Dean as her voice became a threatening whisper. "Don't you be gettin' my baby girl in trouble,  _ya hear_?"

"Oh, don't worry," Dean said, smiling reassuringly. Sam thought he looked terrified.

...

Sam sat in the Impala with the door open as Dean fished around in the trunk. The cool night air felt good. He thought he could drink a gallon of water... but of course, Dean would be hungry, so they'd be somewhere soon.

Sam leaned his head back. He thought again about being Dean's safe place, then remembered the horrified reaction Dean had when he heard that phrase out loud. Sam grinned from ear to ear as Dean got into the driver's seat.

"What? Did I miss something?" Dean asked.

Sam laughed.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing."

Dean looked blank for a second, then said, "Smile like that again... it was adorable."

Sam smiled, though it was more of a grimace.  _Adorable?_

Dean turned away. "I don't wanna stay in the loft; we'll come back later. Let's  _do_  something," he said, revving the engine.

...


	6. Pranks.1

 

[ _Side story_ ]

...

Sam was doing research. He snapped the laptop shut when Dean opened the motel room door, and slid it under the covers for good measure.

Dean dropped his coat on the table and regarded him skeptically. "Smooth, Sammy. Really."

Sam looked at him with what he hoped was innocence.

"You know I don't care if you jerk off, right? What, you have some weird porn kink you don't want me to know about?" Dean regarded his half-erection with raised eyebrows.

"Dean, that's not- I wasn't-" he started. In fact, he had been researching what guys do in bed together. Maybe his imagination had gone a little... "You're right, I was watching porn."

"Okay, I did  _not_  want to know that."

"But you just said-"

"Uhn-uh," Dean held his hand up to keep Sam from saying anything else, then marched off to the bathroom, looking mortified.

Sam didn't know whether he was more amused or frustrated. He could hear the shower through the door, so he walked over to Dean's coat and fished through the pockets.

Dean had left his phone unattended. How unwise. Sam picked it up, changed the 'settings' password (Dean always used 6666, not very cautious) so that Dean couldn't undo his handiwork without his help, or a serious time investment. Then he changed the "banner" words on Dean's phone.

0354  
Z-cell Inc.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
DEAN WINCHESTER IS A SPARKLY UNICORN


	7. S2E06

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

[ _Set after Season 2, Ep. 6 - "No Exit"_ ]

...

"Dean!" Sam was shouting. Dean jerked awake and swerved out of the oncoming traffic.

His eyelids must have grown heavy, staring at the endless wet blacktop. They were driving east. Dean could have gone either way. He'd taken the eastbound ramp after seeing blue flashing lights reflecting off the fog to the west. Not that it mattered.

There would be someone who needed saving on the east coast. Had to be. Tons of people needed saving. Most of them didn't get lucky.

"Dean... I don't mind driving," Sam said gently.

"I'm fine."

Awake enough, he returned to brooding. He'd had virtually no reaction to narrowly avoiding a head-on collision with a semi. He could feel Sam worrying from the passenger's seat, he just didn't have the energy to console him. What would he say?  _It'll be okay, Sammy, everything turns out all right? Your life will be full of hugs and sunshine any day now?_ He'd gotten Sam back into this life for his own selfish purposes. Sam could have been free.

"Wanna tell me what's on your mind?"

"Nope." Dean kept his eyes on the road. He knew exactly what Sam was doing without looking over at him. Sam was staring out the window at the monotonous grey trees and the occasional bursts of city light. Sam was sticking his chin out stubbornly. Sam was worrying over his older brother.

They saved people, but they didn't always make it in time. Dean's conscience was counting the souls he had failed to save. And then, at the end of a hunter's life... At the end of Sammy's life...

Dean turned on the radio. Some new-age crap. He didn't bother to change it. They drove on through the rainy night.

...

"Dean, we've been driving for hours. Do we even have a destination?" Sam had to raise his voice to talk over the static as they drove out of the radio station's broadcast range. Though he was practically shouting, his voice still sounded kind.

Dean finally glanced over at his brother. His face remained expressionless, but he felt something for that kid - now a tall, handsome man - who would sit in the car for hours before questioning him. Sam shouldn't have to be that tolerant.

"Yeah, Sammy. Let's find someplace to sleep," he said quietly.

...

They were barely in the door when Sam asked, "Is this about Dad?"

"No," he snapped. "Not everything's about Dad."  _Of course it's about Dad_ , he thought.

His father had been a good man. Dean knew that better than anyone. But what Jo had said... well, that hadn't surprised him much either.

And Jo...  _Damn_ , Dean thought. She was pretty ballsy, though still clueless about hunting. And during their last case he'd thought... Not that it mattered.

He sank into an overstuffed motel chair and stared into space.

"Dean? Dean! You gotta snap out of it." Sam was suddenly crouching on the floor right in front of him.

"Out of what?" Dean managed a small, mischievous smile.

Sam glared at him, completely serious.

Dean gazed back at him with a mixture of affection and annoyance. Then he flipped his phone open to check the time, and yawned, "What state are we in?"

"Illinois."

"That far?" Dean looked smug. Then his eyes got huge. The display on his phone read 'Dean Winchester is a sparkly...' No, nope. He pressed all the buttons on his phone until he found the settings menu, but his password did not work. He tried it three times, then noticed Sam watching him."Oh you bitch..."

Sam's glare turned into a different look, just as intense, that moved slowly from Dean's eyes down to his lips.

Dean felt his skin getting hot. "Wanna check this town out?" he said casually.

"Dude, no. You need to sleep."

"Thanks, Grandma," Dean sneered.

Sam took the phone from his hands and chucked it away. "You're the one who's gonna regret it when you crash your car."

"Fuck you," Dean returned.

Sam just gazed at him, condescending.

Dean ground his teeth. "Think I wanna adjust your face," he said, catching his brother's jaw. Sam's mouth hot in his palm, his little brother's eyes staring at him like  _that_ , and Dean was far from ready to face what they did that morning they were hungover, so he decided to defuse the situation.

Before he could second guess himself, he surged forward, tackling Sam to the ground. Sam offered his back, and Dean put him in a half-nelson easily.

"We grapple at least twice a week," Dean scowled. "And you never wind up on top. Are you even trying?"

With a sudden burst of strength, Sam rolled out of the hold and Dean was on his back. He blinked. Sam was getting up, dragging Dean to his feet. Already too aroused by his brother's proximity, Dean's breath caught in his throat as Sam leaned close.

"Is that what you want?" he asked. His eyes said he could take Dean down.

Dean shuddered slightly. He could feel his whole body flushing. He quickly stepped away, turned his back to Sam and started getting ready for bed, throwing his coat and flannel shirt on the chair he'd been sitting in. He started towards the bathroom and felt a breeze on his chest.

Sam ducked his head to hide a smirk. Dean looked down and saw that fist-sized circles had been cut out of his shirt, right over his nipples.

_Cute_ , Dean thought, grimacing.

Sam laughed at him, of course.

"Yeah, Sammy, you like that?" Dean taunted, feeling dumb.

Sam's smile faded as he met Dean's eyes. Sam walked towards him slowly, and Dean found himself backing up a few paces until,  _Shit_ , he hit the wall. Sam put his hands on Dean's torso, spreading his fingers out over his ribcage, pressing him gently backwards, cast heavy over Dean's thudding heart. Sam kissed his forehead.

"Whoa, _hey_ , Sammy..." Dean said softly.

Sam's jaw clenched, Dean couldn't tell if he was horny or pissed off. Sam's mouth, almost brushing his, but Sam was still glaring at him.

Dean pulled back. "You ruined my favorite shirt," he said.

"Serves you right, for your last prank."

"Which one?"

Sam raised his eyebrows. "Seriously?"

Dean shrugged. "What? I forget. Been going easy on you since you suh-mm." When Sam leaned in to kiss him, he did his best to turn his face away, but there was no helping it. He allowed Sam to suck on his lips slowly, allowed Sam to press deeper into his mouth. Sam's hand slid down and undid the button on Dean's pants.

"Still seem like you want it," Sam told him.

Dean shoved a hand deep into his pocket, trying to adjust his pants and hide his erection. "You're... making stuff up," Dean gasped as Sam wrapped his good hand around Dean's wrist, drawing it slowly out of his pocket, then unzippered his pants and touched him through his shorts. 

They kissed hard and broke apart panting. Sam took Dean's face in his hands and said quietly, "You in control now?"

Dean gaped, and Sam pushed his tongue into Dean's open mouth. His brain came back online just then, and he turned away, meaning to give Sam the cold shoulder, but realizing immediately that he had not improved his position. He felt Sam's hands on his hips, tugging his jeans down, pulling his underwear off more carefully, scraping Dean's thigh lightly with his cast, running the palm of his good hand sensually down Dean's other leg as he stripped him. Fabric brushed his shoulder blades as Sam took his own clothes off behind him. Sam's body, suddenly naked, pressed warm against his back, cast brushing against his ass.

"Easy, Sam," there was a warning in his voice, but he stopped himself from using the cliche, 'you're going too fast.'

Sam pushed him into the wall in response, reaching around him, taking his cock in his big hand. He sighed as Sam buried his face in his neck and began stroking him. He'd had some good handjobs before, but, he supposed, Sam knew what felt best.

Dean's breathing became ragged. He was turned on, trying to calm down, trying not to lose control. Sam kissed him gently behind his ears as the pressure built up. Dean closed his eyes and rested his forehead on the cheesy floral wallpaper in front of him.

Then Sam's cast moved and he felt Sam's hardness pressing into his ass. Dean was suddenly alert, skin pricking with goosebumps. He stared at the wallpaper, feeling the hard line of Sam's cock against his ass.  _My little brother wants to fuck me_ , he thought.  But his mind refused to process that data, leaving it echoing.

"Sam, you're poking me in the butt," he ground out, trying to keep his voice steady.

"Then turn around," Sam murmured in his ear.

Dean made a low, inarticulate noise, but did as he was told. Sam backed up a little. Dean shut his eyes in frustration as Sam's erection bumped into his. He heard Sam snort and his eyes snapped open again. "What's so funny?" he demanded.

"Sorry about your shirt, man." Sam smiled, pulling Dean's shirt over his head.

" 'Sokay," Dean mumbled, taking the opportunity to really look Sam over. His brain continued not to process anything as he relished the sight of Sam's lean muscular form. He let his eyes move lower. Last time he had been too preoccupied with closing his eyes and pretending this wasn't happening, so he hadn't really noticed...

"You're... wow."

Sam looked concerned.

"Damnit, Sammy," Dean muttered.

Sam caught Dean's hand and pulled it down. Dean shuddered, want and denial tangling together in his gut, heart hammering in his chest. Sam, kissing him.

Dean closed his eyes and dropped his head back against the wall, Sam's cock pushing heavy between his fingers. His little brother.

Sam was kissing him sloppily, his erection leaving a smear on Dean's belly. Each kiss eroded his restraint, and he opened his mouth a little more, let Sam kiss him deeper, until he was returning full and filthy, panting indecently between kisses. Then Sam got on his knees.

Dean grunted, shoving his knuckles in his mouth so he wouldn't cry out as Sam sucked him off. He felt a glorious rush of nothingness as his brain focused on the warm, wet pressure.

Sam paused.

Dean's eyes fluttered open. Sam was kneeling, beating off, jeans bunched around his lower legs, knees between Dean's ankles. He watched Sam licking him slowly, kissing his balls and the insides of his thighs, pressing into Dean's left leg with his cast.  _Holy shit, Sam_ , he thought, gasping as Sam took his length into his mouth again.

He tried to push Sam away to warn him he was coming, but Sam didn't take the hint. Dean gave up, pleasure overwhelming him in waves, hips bucking. He was vaguely aware that Sam swallowed it.

Sam stood up slowly, beating off, leaning down to press sticky kisses into the soft skin between Dean's clavicles. Dean groaned as his brother's cum squirted on him, and the white drips ran down between his legs.

...

He squinted as the freezing water hit his face. As the cold rivulets coursed down his chest, his breathing grew fast and shallow.  _Dammit, that was really hot. Damnit!_  He slapped one hand against the wet tiles, slamming the tap off and drawing the curtain back roughly.

He was completely distracted from whatever had been on his mind earlier. He wrapped a towel around his waist and headed back into the room.

Sam was reading a book, still shirtless.

_I have absolutely no thoughts about that,_  Dean told himself. He flopped facedown on the mattress, not bothering to get dressed.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"We were totally sober this time," Sam gloated.

Dean paused, steadying himself. "Don't remind me," he said flatly.

...


	8. S2E07

 

[ _Set after Season 2, Ep. 7 - "The Usual Suspects"_ ]

...

Sam leaned back against the headrest and pictured the rage he felt as a ball of red light. He directed it outwards towards the horizon and watched it dissipate.

A year ago, Sam had gone to see Dr. Ellicott, who had taught him guided imagery. He had focused primarily on redirecting Sam's anger, but suggested that Sam might find it useful to identify the un-brotherly feelings he had for Dean so he could dispel them, too. At the time, that had only irritated Sam more. Now he was willing to try it.

He focused on the cycling thoughts he'd had during the police interrogation, imagined them congealing into black ectoplasm...

"Hey, Monkboy," Dean slapped him, startling him out of his peace, then handed a cup of coffee through the open passenger's window.

"Huh?"

"What're you, meditating or something?" Dean smirked, leaning through the window to harass him. "Your eyes got all glassy. Spooky!" he said passionately.

"Fuck off."

"Ooh, get mad Sammy, I like that," Dean winked.

Sam clenched his jaw and glared through the windshield at a milk truck parked behind the gas station. He had already told Dean to stop flirting with him. Dean rapped his knuckles on the inside of Sam's door, then he wandered off, giving up for now. Five minutes later, they pulled back onto the highway.

Sam's thoughts returned to the Baltimore case.

_I let Dean call the shots because we'd been taken in; it wasn't a great time for dissent. But I should be the one creating the diversions. Dean puts everyone else before himself, puts himself in danger, always ready to sacrifice... No. I won't let him sacrifice himself.  But how can I make him care?_

Sam's brain repeated the vicious thoughts he'd had while being interrogated -  _What the hell would Dean do in prison all alone? No. If Dean goes down, I can't abandon him. But we won't end up together, necessarily, so maybe I should try to escape and bust Dean out... There's just no way. No fucking way. I'd do anything to save him..._ He paused, heart thudding. That was it. He just knew. If he turned into a monster, that would be why. If someone hurt Dean, or locked him away where Sam couldn't reach him, he would lose his mind.

"Hey Sam, look what I found!" Dean aimed a small black pistol at his face.

Sam looked at him questioningly. He opened his mouth to tell Dean that the gun didn't even look real, and got a mouthful of water. Dean squirted him in the face a couple more times, then admired his watergun, cackling.

"Idiot," Sam said, wiping his face on his sleeve.

"I hate to be the one to tell you this, Sam, but if you leave your mouth open you never know what you're gonna get in it."

"Dean, you're trying my patience. Seriously. Cut it out."

"All right, all right. You just seem like you're off in orbit, is all."

Sam wasn't sure if Dean was just being immature and acting out, or if he was ashamed of what they'd done. Either way, Dean was taking his sexual frustration - or whatever it was - out on him with the not-so-funny jokes, and the casual, nothing-could-possibly-happen-here attitude when they were alone together, which, bar driving, Dean seemed to be avoiding.

Then again, some of his behavior was downright suggestive. Sam didn't know how to interpret it. He felt his neurons firing erratically.

In Baltimore he had faced the very real possibility of being separated from his brother. Sam liked to think they were independent, but Dean didn't seem too keen on protecting himself.

No, that was putting it mildly. Dean clearly didn't give half a fuck what happened, as long as Sam was safe. Would Dean be okay in prison? He was strong, and well-trained, but in a place full of hardened criminals, someone was bound to be stronger. What if that person noticed how pretty Dean's lips were? What if he were drawn in by Dean's gorgeous eyes, full of both sorrow and arrogance? What if Dean's smart mouth and tough demeanor made him even more appealing to... to conquer?

Sam knew Dean was brave, but the thought of it made him sick. He wanted Dean to care.

He rubbed a hand across his eyes, trying to clear his thoughts. Worrying about it was pointless, but he had an ominous feeling that their run-ins with the law would escalate.

...

As they were plowing through Tennessee, Dean seemed a little uneasy. "It's okay, Sammy," he said with a smile, slapping his hand over Sam's knee.

Sam ignored the fire that started in his lower abdomen whenever Dean touched him. He continued to stare out the window.

"So," Dean cleared his throat. "You wanna... do something?"

Sam thought it sounded sexual. "What?" He turned to look at Dean, eyebrows raised, half-smiling.

He noticed how Dean gulped, but tried to play it off: "You know, go out, find something to cheer you up. Make you less gloomy."

Sam smirked inwardly.  _Nice try._ "I don't know, man," he said. "Let's just find someplace to crash."

The clock read 2035 when Dean took the Nashville exit.

...

Dean got out of the car and stretched languidly. Somehow he had managed to convince Sam that relaxing at the motel tonight would be the worst decision ever.  _But we're in the system now_ , Sam reminded himself,  _we shouldn't be going out until we've checked the police scanner, at least._

He walked around the Impala to stand next to his brother, eyeing the bar. Dean had a special knack for finding the raunchiest dive in town.

"You good, Sammy?"

Sam nodded, even though he wasn't. As they went in, Dean winked at a pretty brunette who was smoking on the stoop. She gave him a racy smile.

...

Dean was drinking a lot. Sam didn't know what was on his mind, but he supposed he'd try to get him to open up later, when they were alone. Dean started chatting with a tan young woman and Sam sat by himself, thinking about Dean.

Sam noticed Dean negotiating with the bartender, who handed him an orange square of paper and a pen.  _He's giving her his number?_ Sam wondered, and felt an odd pang as Dean whispered something in her ear.  _But_ , he reminded himself,  _It_ _'s not my business_. He couldn't expect Dean to change like that.

Dean got up and rubbed his hand across Sam's back before joining the tan woman at a table with her three friends. They looked like university students.

His brother looked happy, laughing with the four women. Sam glanced over again, and saw half of the people at that table were looking straight at him. He quickly averted his eyes, staring into his beer.  _Ah,_ he thought.  _So a_ _wkward._

Moments later, a blonde and a redhead approached, giggling. They sat down on either side of him. He figured Dean had done something stupid, but waited to hear what they had to say.

"So you're a big guy, huh?" the woman to his right began meaningfully.

"Maybe?" Sam said weakly, concerned about where this might be going.

She glanced at her friend, and laughed. "We're into rough play," she explained. "Size matters. Me and my friends," she gestured towards the table where Dean was sitting, "The four of us can show you a  _really_  good time."

"You're here to pick someone up, right?" her friend chimed in. "How about picking up  _four_ someones?"

Sam choked. "No, I'm sorry. I'm already... I can't," he said eloquently, knowing it was a fucking prank.

"Oh, well. Come meet our friends anyway!" Before he could object, the woman to his right led him across the room. As he walked, he noticed several people, both men and women, checking him out. He frowned.  _That's unusual._

"So what's your name, handsome?" the woman sitting next to Dean asked, looking him over slowly.

"It's Sam. And I don't-"

"Hey, Sam," the two women he hadn't met said at once.

Dean was observing him with a broad smirk.  _He's enjoying this,_ Sam thought.  _Jerk_. He gave Dean an icy look that said, 'Count me out of your games.'

Dean raised his eyebrows innocently.

"What sort of things are you into, Sam?" the tan woman asked.

Sam didn't get a chance to reply. An attractive woman with long, black hair walked up behind him, touching his back.

"Grow up Kristen," she said, peeling a fluorescent orange sticky note off of Sam's shirt and handing it to him. "Tacking 'kick me' signs to cute boys' backs may've worked when y'all were in middle school, but this fine gentleman looks like a grad student." She flashed Sam a winning smile before striding off to the pool tables.

The tan woman rolled her eyes.

Sam read the note in his hand. The small letters at the top read, 'I may look shy but.' Below those, bigger letters announced, 'I GOT A HUGE DICK.'   _Retard,_  Sam thought, crumpling the note in his hand and glaring at Dean. "I hate you," he mouthed.

Dean smiled. "Ah come on, Sammy. You got nothing to be ashamed of. Anyway, why don't you live a little~"

Sam narrowed his eyes. "Dean, if you wanted an open relationship, you could have just asked," he said sweetly.

That shut Dean up, and, ears burning, Sam was able to excuse himself after a few more awkward moments. He eased his way through the growing night crowd and into the bathroom.  _Calm down,_ he told himself, twisting the squeaky tap and rubbing cold water on his face.

Dean wasn't taking him seriously at all. The jokes and cute remarks were only getting worse. And here they were, making a scene when they  _should_  be laying low.

Sam was wicked horny, too, in a way that wouldn't let up. Even if it wasn't physically there all the time, he couldn't get Dean off his mind. Dean naked, flushed, gasping. That blissed-out face. God, he even thought of Dean handcuffed...

Sam scrubbed more water over his face. This wasn't helping.

He decided to go back to the motel alone. Dean could flirt all night. Maybe eventually he'd stop being coy. Or maybe he wouldn't. Sam figured it'd be easier if he were asleep by the time Dean got back.

He left the bathroom, trying to remember the name of the motel, and almost slammed into someone with short blond hair. The young man was standing right outside the bathroom, contributing to the graffiti on the wall.

For a second, he thought it was Dean. It wasn't.

Sam sighed. He supposed he shouldn't leave without saying anything, so he went back to the bar.

He noted two of the women from Dean's table getting ready to leave. "Come with us next time!" the woman who had sat on his right called to him.

_Bite me_ , Sam thought.

He scanned the room for his brother, and his eyes fell on the bar.

The redhead was sitting very close to Dean. He was letting her feed him a french fry, grinning, licking the salt from between her fingers.

_Gross,_  Sam thought. He tried not to look, and got on Dean's other side, leaning in to talk to him. "I'm leaving," he said in a low voice. His lips brushed Dean's ear.

Dean turned toward him. "What?" he shouted over the music and chatter.

"I'm leaving."

"Wait, wait, did you meet Andrea?"

Sam grabbed the inside of Dean's elbow and hissed in his ear, "Quit trying to set me up."

"I'm not!"

Sam scoffed, and turned to leave. Dean grabbed the front of his jacket. "Hold on a sec," he said into Sam's ear, skimming his cheek lightly against Sam's jaw. He gave Sam a look, and Sam's stomach fluttered. "You're a wanted man, Sammy," Dean explained. "I ain't letting you take a cab."

...

"Sam... Let me get inside, moron."

He squeezed Dean harder, aware that Dean's body seemed to open to his touch. He pushed Dean against the door and kissed him urgently, quickly, sensing his need. Dean kissed him back, but something was off. Sam tried to slow down, but he was pulling Dean's jacket off roughly.

"God, Dean, you're wearing my shirt?" Sam breathed.

"You ruined mine. And we haven't been to a laundromat," Dean said flatly.

"Right," Sam smiled, kissing Dean's cheek as he unbuttoned multiple layers of clothing. He ran his palms down Dean's arms, dragging everything off at once. No undershirt today.

"Dude, chill out," Dean hissed.

Sam let go of Dean's wrist, noticing the bright red marks around it. They were bloody.

"How did this happen?"

"I don't know, man," Dean looked tired.

Sam examined his wrist. "The cuffs?" He watched Dean closely. "You were tugging on them, weren't you?"

"They might have been loose."

"Yeah, but you don't flay your wrist checking."

"Okay, so maybe I don't like the idea of being locked away forever. But I'm not in prison. Everything's fine."

Dean went to wash off his wrists. They were rubbed raw. One had a fairly deep gash, and the water running down the sink was copper-tinged.

Sam watched him from the bathroom doorway.

"See? Nothin' special." Dean showed him his wrists, which didn't look as bad with all the blood rinsed off.

"So that's it? You're just.. fine?"

"Never better." Dean turned to leave. Sam blocked the doorway.

"You angling for a fight?"

"Is that what it would take?"

Dean licked his lips. He glanced up into Sam's eyes and then looked away. "You don't think this is jacked up?"

Sam was silent. He stepped into his brother's space, taking Dean's face in both hands.

"Don't," Dean said.

"Dean..."

"Would you listen?" Dean grabbed Sam roughly by the collar.

Sam deftly unbuttoned his shirt, pulling it up from the back and slipping out of it. Dean watched in disbelief, then tossed down the empty fabric.

"Dude, what are you doing?"

"Sorry Dean. Unlike you, I can't just pretend I don't want this."

"Look, Sammy, we screwed up before, but that doesn't mean we have to repeat our mistakes."

Sam's nostrils flared. "Mistakes? Five minutes ago you-" he stopped suddenly. Dean wore an expression that he couldn't read. "Are you  _scared_?"

"Of you? Hell no."

_I was too aggressive,_ he thought, nuzzling Dean's ear. "Scared you might like it?" he said softly. "Scared you might let me..." he trailed off.

"Mm," Dean grunted, pressing into him slightly. His face and neck were feverish under Sam's lips.

"Is that a yes?" Sam felt like he was interviewing a recalcitrant child.

"Think you can take me?" Dean challenged.

"I'm not interested in finding out," Sam said honestly. "Only if you want it." His fingers brushed lightly over the hardness in the front of Dean's pants. Dean shivered against him.

"Don't do that, Sam," he murmured. " 's messed up."

Sam tugged his own pants and shorts off. He looked into Dean's eyes in the weak light. Pupils dilated, irises clear green, almost minty - light and cool compared to the yellow eyes in Sam's head. Dean probably wanted it, but it was hard to be sure. He guided Dean's hand toward his aching erection.

Dean closed his eyes and touched him tentatively. His arousal wept clear fluid on Dean's fingers. He braced himself.

"You really want it, huh?" Dean whispered.

"Yeah, Dean."

Sam gently tilted Dean's face toward his, letting his eyes communicate the sincere affection and raw desire he felt for his brother. Dean gazed up at him, breathless, completely vulnerable. Sam understood.

When Dean spoke, his voice was husky. "Fuck, Sammy... How the hell do I say no to you?"

...


	9. Night in TN

...

He had Dean naked in a matter of seconds, kissing him roughly, holding Dean's body against his. They grappled a bit; Sam was trying to kiss and touch every part of Dean's exposed skin, Dean was trying to get him to focus. His brain vaguely registered that Dean's tongue was amazing, and that he should probably slow down...

He remembered from his research that he had to use some sort of lubricant, and cast a quick glance around the bathroom. It was rather spacious for a motel bathroom; the sink was set into a long counter with a washcloth and two bottles nestled in the far corner.  _Good_ , Sam thought, since it was fairly rare for motels to provide toiletries. He grabbed the one that said "lotion," squirted a liberal amount on his fingers, and, with a twinge of annoyance, remembered he didn't have full use of his right hand.  _Stupid cast_. He probably couldn't jerk off while he put his fingers inside Dean. But the mere thought of putting his fingers...

Sam took a deep breath.

Dean looked stunning, completely fucked up. Flushed, lips parted, leaning back with his shoulder blades against the wall and his feet in the middle of the room, touching himself with one hand, other hand dangling behind him.  _Jesus_ , Sam thought. His sloppy, sprawling pose only added to his sexiness.

Dean frowned at his fingers. "Don't you dare stick anything up my ass," he said halfheartedly, through the haze of arousal. "I'll kill you..."

Sam opened his mouth to explain.

"I mean it," Dean said, grabbing Sam's hip with his free hand and pulling him close, lapping at Sam's lips like a kitten.

Pleasantly surprised, Sam crushed Dean's mouth in a long, hard kiss. Then Dean was pulling away, smirking at him.

"That face-"

"Fuck you."

"You  _do_ want it!"

"No way," Dean was grinning.

Sam grabbed his ear, scraping his cast against Dean's shoulder in the process. "You little-"

Dean put a finger to Sam's lips. "Careful, princess." He mimed a kiss into the air.

Sam couldn't think in English, so he slammed his upper arms into Dean's shoulders, pressing the bridges of their noses together and growling. His heart was pounding so fast he thought it might stop -  _Dean_ was driving it, Dean was pulling him in and shoving his tongue in his mouth and touching his dick, bending his knee and putting one socked foot up against the wall behind him so that Sam could stand between his legs...

Sam was now fairly annoyed because both of his hands were unavailable - one in a cast and the other holding a handful of cold, slippery goo. An idea hit him, something he had learned from dealing with stubborn children - if a child is belligerent enough and you reverse your argument, the child will easily assume your original stance, changing sides so that they can continue to disagree with you.

Essentially.

He backed away, smearing the lotion on his cock, stroking himself. "More for me then."

Dean watched him masturbate for a second, mouth open, eyes glazed.

"Too bad we can only go this far," Sam taunted.

Dean hesitated.

Sam moved closer, nudging him. "Sorry, I know, you'd  _hate_ it if we did anything too exciting." He licked Dean's neck with tantric slowness.

"Fine, Sam! Fuck," Dean panted. "Just... do whatever you want."

Sam sank to his knees and pressed a slow kiss into the hollow of Dean's hip. "When you ask later, I'll make sure to say you protested valiantly."

Dean looked down at him with narrowed eyes. "Do you always talk this much?"

He licked the base of Dean's erection. Dean moaned, tangling his fingers in Sam's hair.

Sam chuckled to himself, grabbing the bottle off the bathroom mat where he'd tossed it and getting two fingers completely coated. Dean's ass cheeks were full and warm, and he reached around his legs and spread them, leaving a sticky mess everywhere he touched. He felt Dean stiffen.

"Relax," he commanded.

He didn't stick his fingers in immediately, but began sucking him off, tracing the outline. He hugged Dean's left leg with his less helpful arm, digging his fingertips into the supple gluteal muscles.

Slowly, he slid one finger in. Dean exhaled. He ran the tip of his tongue firmly back and forth over the sensitive underside of Dean's erection as he started moving his finger. Dean let out a low, breathy moan, leaking salty precum into Sam's mouth.

He kissed the insides of his thighs. He knew he was going too fast but he couldn't wait, and pushed two fingers inside.

"Sam." The catch in Dean's voice warned him not to get carried away.

He pulled his fingers out, painting his tongue across Dean's torso as he stood up to face him, pausing several times to kiss his bellybutton, his left nipple, the hollow under his collarbone...

He nuzzled Dean's cheek, not sure if it was okay to kiss him after sucking his cock. Dean brushed their lips together, sighing, bumping into him.

"Turn around," Sam murmured.

Dean flashed him a defiant glare but did what he was told.

_Whoa_ , Sam thought.

He leaned his forearm against the wall over Dean's head, resting his weight on the bothersome cast. Dean bit his lip, giving Sam a tantalizing look over his shoulder, and Sam was pressing their bodies together, pushing his chest into the hot skin on Dean's back, kissing his neck, sliding his fingers deep inside him.

Dean shuddered against him, touching himself.

He felt a little mound on the backs of his fingernails, and pressed, twisting his fingers around.

Dean gasped and stomped on Sam's foot.

"Does that feel good?" he purred against Dean's ear, massaging the spot.

"Guh," Dean explained, beating off roughly.

Not wanting him to come right away, Sam returned to trying to open his insides. His cock was twitching against Dean's lower back, wanting attention. He tried to communicate this to Dean, who had two perfectly good hands and was only really using one of them, but the words wouldn't come out. Dean was in his own world, and didn't notice. He helplessly nipped at the muscles that ran between Dean's neck and shoulder.

"Dean," he begged, using his other hand to run his hardness along Dean's butt cheeks, leaving wet smudges.

"Mm?" Dean turned slightly, eyes heavy-lidded.

Sam's hard-on nudged into the groove on Dean's backside. He decided to rely on his stiffness and a ton of lotion - he pulled his fingers out and spread more sliminess liberally on his cock.

Dean froze. "Sam?"

He told his libido to shut up for a second as he tried to express his affection with his entire body. Dean responded sweetly, settling against him.

He held Dean's hips, walking backwards, pulling him along. He guided Dean towards the counter, turning him to face the mirror.

Dean seemed hesitant. "What, you want me to see something?" he smiled nervously.

"Bend over."

Dean looked at him with blurry eyes.

"I know."

Dean propped up on his elbows, then eased down so he was lying on his chest, butt in the air, holding his erection down against his leg with the heel of his hand.

Sam gritted his teeth. He pulled Dean's ass up, spreading him, aligning their bodies. He pushed very slowly even though his  _other_  brain was telling him how that round bottom would make such a thick, slapping sound as he slammed his hips into him...

Dean's breathing was uneven.

"Stop me if it hurts," he murmured.

"Shut up," Dean managed.

It was slick but extremely tight. Boiling hot. He grimaced as he forced himself all the way in.

"Sam," Dean gasped out, voice ragged.

Nearly overwhelmed by the intense pressure, Sam made himself pause. He gazed at Dean, who was leaning so his chest and his cheek pressed into the counter, jerking off with one hand. His facial expression was hard to read.

"God, Dean," he sighed. Dean was always beautiful, but now... he felt dizzy, witnessing the sheer sexiness that emanated from the man underneath him.

Watching Dean's expression, he drew most of the way out and pushed in again, agonizingly slow.

Dean arched his back. Sam paused, admiring the beauty of that movement.

"If you're going to fuck me, do it, before I change my mind," Dean grunted moodily. He turned away, burying his face in the crook of his elbow. Then, "Sam... I'm not gonna break, okay?" His voice was muffled.

Sam thrust into him, feeling like he would explode from the heat. It didn't last long; several minutes later Dean was gasping and writhing under him, sending ripples of sensitivity through his body that Sam felt on his cock. He pulled Dean upright, almost standing, fucking him hard as his balls drew up. He released inside him, out of breath.

When he stopped seeing stars, he kicked himself for not pulling out. Dean was going to be furious.

...

Dean's legs looked unsteady.

"Sorry we ended up doing it in the bathroom," Sam said. Under the guise of being romantic, he held Dean close, supporting his shoulders so he wouldn't be embarrassed. It took all of his self-control not to pick Dean up and carry him. Dean wouldn't like that.

"So sentimental." Dean sneered, but let himself be led into the other room.

Dean sprawled facedown on the bed. His pose struck Sam as painfully undignified for some reason.

"By the way... shoulda used a condom."

"You're worried I got you pregnant?" Sam grinned, sitting down next to him.

Dean scowled at him.

"Sorry. Yeah, you're right. Guess I got caught up in the heat of the moment."

"Dude, I love that song!"

"Song?"

"Nevermind," Dean yawned.

"Anyway, sorry I got carried away."

"Oh, everyone knows. Jesus, you're like some feral animal or something."

Sam's good mood had him feeling particularly playful. He pounced on Dean and growled in his ear.

Dean jumped a little, startled, then yelled "Motherfucker!" and elbowed Sam in the chest, hard. Sam collapsed on top of him, laughing and kissing him until they both passed out from exhaustion.

...


	10. The next morning...

[ _The next morning..._ ]

...

When Sam woke up, Dean was in the other bed, sleeping on top of the comforter. He could see the curve of Dean's ass through his threadbare black boxer briefs. His mouth felt dry.

He untangled himself from the sheets - Dean must have tried to wrap them around him, but he'd done a terrible job - and grabbed some clothes out of their bag. He saw Dean's shoulders tense.

"Sam," he croaked.

"Yeah, Dean?" he said softly, unsure of how to act.

"Sam, get me coffee."

He pulled his clothes on. The morning air was cold, but the sun was bright. It would warm up soon. He spotted a gas station a block away.

As he walked, he thought about everything that had happened in the past couple of days.  _This morning was probably the first time in my life I've ever felt uncomfortable around Dean. I... he probably doesn't feel the same way. He was drunk and... I let my emotions regarding our arrest interfere with my judgment. Would he tell me if I were too rough? Probably not. There are so many things that Dean will never say. This can't happen again. I hope he's okay._

He felt suspended. Not exactly nervous, but distracted. He stacked the coffee cups and held the door for an older guy. The top cup fell, exploding on Sam's shoes. The older guy looked at him sympathetically and insisted on buying him another cup. He absentmindedly agreed, though he didn't really need coffee. He was wide awake.

Sam had been looking for clues. Dean was wearing underwear, which meant he had woken up at some point during the night. And there had been a towel on the floor in the bathroom. He probably showered. If Sam had seen his face, his reaction then... that would have told him how bad it was. But Dean's face had been in the pillow, his voice carefully composed... Sam wasn't sure.

...

When he finally returned, Dean was still lying facedown. He sat on the edge of the bed. Dean stirred. Sam reached out to touch him, but stopped himself, clenching his hand into a fist.  _I overdid it. Dean, I'm sorry. I hope you're okay._

"I brought... coffee." His voice sounded odd.

Dean got up, winced, and glared at Sam. Then his look softened a bit. "Thanks," he said.

"Can I..."

"What?"

"Nevermind."  _Holy crap, was I just about to ask if I could kiss him? I must be losing my mind._

...

They didn't drive very far that day; Dean was clearly uncomfortable, fidgeting in his seat. He made a few cutting jokes. They didn't talk about it.

Dean went out by himself that evening. Sam tried to read, but his mind wouldn't focus. He put on his sneakers and a pair of black shorts and stepped out into the chilly night air. They were in the country again. Sam ran out of the little town, which was hardly more than an intersection, and through the hills on meandering roads that wound through dry pastures. A few trees had kept their golden leaves, but most were bare in preparation for winter.

He was gone for an hour and a half, so he figured he had run about ten miles. The Impala was parked out front. He stood outside the motel, stretching, letting the chill soak through his skin.

Dean was messing with the television. Sam frowned. Dean gave him an impish smile.

Sam felt something sinking inside him.  _Dean was just humoring me... he didn't really want it. But he doesn't seem hurt. It'll be okay_ , he thought. And it almost was.

...


	11. Pranks.2

[ _Several days later..._ ]

...

Things had stabilized. They weren't 'doing it,' but Dean didn't hate him.  _Thank God for small favors._  Dean's teasing hadn't let up, but Sam bore it with a tight smile.

...

Sam shoved hunting gear into a bag mechanically. Dean had actually found a website for clown porn and left it running on his computer. He would literally never recover.

"Relax, Sam, we're not leaving yet."

"Why not? I think I've found something."

"A case?"

"Yeah."

"You sure?"

"No."

"Well, keep researching. I need to give my baby a bath," Dean sighed lovingly.

Sam tried not to let his mind run with that image. It was a particularly warm day in early November, the sun was shining, and the motel lot was empty. Perfect conditions. Dean sometimes took his shirt off to wash the car, mostly because he hated doing laundry. He kept his jeans on, though, for sure. Because if he hadn't...

Dean slammed the door, singing to himself.

Sam pressed his palms into his eyes. What was he thinking about.

_Dean grinning, happy, covered in soap. Bending Dean over the hood of the car... Dean's blissful face as Sam entered him, some fun-house reflection of that cute smile in the shiny black paint..._

Sam groaned and pushed on the stiffness in his pants, trying to make it go away.

He sat down and pulled his laptop towards him. There was an odd  _thing_ on it.  _What is that?_ Sam wondered. He picked up the little disc-shaped device. Half of it was metal, and the other half looked like a switch. He tried the switch.

It delivered a mild, sustained electric shock. Sam jumped up, cursing, and threw the thing away from him. It skidded across the floor.

Sam peered at it. It seemed homemade. He picked it up and popped the metal disc off.

_Dean made this,_ he realized with a half-smile.  _God, he's so clever._ He looked around the room. Sure enough, Dean had taken apart the front paneling on the motel television set.

Sam had no clue how to fix it.

He looked out the window at his brother, half-naked, squinting in the sunlight. "You're such a jerk," he said, grinning.

...


	12. S2E08

[ _Set after Season 2, Ep. 8 - "Crossroad Blues"_ ]

...

Sam flipped the radio off. Dean flipped the radio back on. They were in Louisiana, driving aimlessly again. Whatever.

"Dean..."

"Not now."

He pulled off the road. Sam could do his thing, but he needed some time. What that bitch said about misery... well she didn't know the half of it, but whatever had been going on between him and Sam had taken some of the pain from that festering wound. And she had stuck her fingers right in it, digging up all the things he had worked so hard to bury. Not that it mattered. What was important now was to be cool and wait for things to settle.

He threw the keys down as they stomped inside. Crappy little place with green walls, but it would do. Dean twisted one of the lamps on. Red lampshades. He stopped to appreciate how much the motel room resembled some nightmarish Christmas suite. _  
_

A pad of stationary caught his eye. Each page was ringed with printed sprigs of holly. He tore off the top sheet. It read,  _Happy Holly-days!_

"Well, ho-ho-ho," Dean said to himself.

" _What?_ " Sam was looking at him like he was cracking up.

"Nothing, it's just-" he started to point out the decor, but changed his mind. "Nothing." He absently shoved the paper into his pocket.

Sam wrinkled his brow.

"'Kay, I'm heading out. See what 'Monroe' has to offer."

His little brother kept staring at him, face lined with worry.

He clapped a reassuring hand on Sam's shoulder. "Be good, alright? And if you find Santa's elves in the closet... No orgies." He blinked at how revolting that sounded. Wouldn't necessarily surprise him, though. God, he needed a drink.

Sam gently covered Dean's hand with his own. Dean pulled away before his friendly gesture could turn into something X-rated.

"Dean, wait."

"What?" He avoided Sam's eyes.

"Dean, I wasn't going to say this, but-"

"Sam," he warned.

"I mean, you're not exactly the only one who benefited from that deal Dad made."

"Sam, don't."

"God, Dean, if Dad ever did anything for me-"

"Sam, I mean it. Don't." Realizing he had grabbed the front of Sam's shirt, he released him, and walked out before he could say anything else.

...

He stopped at an empty intersection and rolled down all the windows, letting the cold, humid air in. It slid across his forehead like dead fingers.

The idea came out of nowhere.

_Dad probably knows what we did._

"No," he said aloud.

But he might. If hell was all torture-happy, and if demons knew so much about their personal lives, someone might have mentioned what John's boys got up to in his absence...

"Shit," he slapped the steering wheel, pinching the bridge of his nose. It was unlikely, but possible. Didn't matter, though. Not like he could take it back. He was so fucking  _powerless._

Dean blocked his father's words out, but the bitter taste seeped into his mouth anyway.

There was a grocery up ahead to his right. He pulled into the mostly-empty parking lot and gazed sightlessly at blue neon lights advertising "ICE," mounted on dark bricks.

"Dammit! Dad, what the fuck." He was talking to himself like a nutjob. "Dad, you know I wanted to. I wasn't worth you, you... of course I'd have taken that deal. But Dad, Sammy... I can't just leave him like that. Not after... not with you. After what you asked me to do, Dad, I'm sorry. I-" his voice broke. "I just can't. Not like this. I-  _I won't,_ " he whispered.

He was crying for some reason. He kept his eyes fixed on the blue lights as the hot tears rolled down his cheeks in the clammy night air.

He didn't feel like going out. The grocery store would be air-conditioned, yellow-lit. There would be oily steel counters and doors with plastic windows and dusty linoleum floors. The cash register would beep merrily and the grocer would probably be friendly. More importantly, nobody would try to hit on him. Nobody would force their tongue into his mouth, confusing him with feelings of arousal and revulsion, awe at being kissed by a demon and unease, wondering how Sam would react when they debriefed one another, wondering if he should omit that part. He did.

Of course, if he went out, he might meet some interesting people. His mind drifted to that bar in Tennessee.  _"You look like a candidate for some kinky stuff." "Sorry lady, not my thing. And I'm pretty average, if that's what you're getting at."_  He was being modest, of course. Despite the awkward start to their conversation, he'd genuinely enjoyed talking to that woman - she was weird, but intelligent, fun, and kinda bitchy. She'd known he was pranking his 'friend,' but she'd played along admirably.

Before she left, she'd said to him privately,  _"I'm not going to ask about y'all's relationship unless you want me to,"_ to which he'd grinned,  _"Definitely not,"_ as he caught that gorgeous brunette's eye. But the highlight of that evening had been the look of discomfort on Sammy's face...

Dean chuckled, wiping his cheeks.

_Nah, Sam will probably be cool and hold off on the 'philosophical chat' for right now._ He decided to grab beer and spend the night with his brother.

The moist air was heavy against his skin. Oppressive, smothering.

When he got back, Sam was on the floor.

...


	13. S2E09

[Set at the beginning of Season 2, Ep. 9 - "Croatoan"]

...

Sam had insisted on leaving right away. Dean's mind was still reeling - he'd gotten back to find Sam lying on the floor like... like he was sick or something. He'd been hit with another one of those freaky visions.

Dean followed 425 North into Arkansas - heading west through Dallas would've been faster. He knew these roads; he'd keep going north until they hit Omaha, and Sam wouldn't say anything because they'd be avoiding Kansas. From there he'd drive west to Salt Lake City, then north through the mountains to Butte. Not the most direct way, but altogether it might give him an extra half-day or so without being too obvious. He figured they'd get there in time regardless, since apparently he'd be wasting someone.

It took Sam about an hour to catch on. He pulled out his phone and loaded up a GPS.

"Aw, Sammy, I don't need a map. I know where I'm going."

"Really? Then why are we still on some country road?"

"This is a highway! Anyway, we'll be on a bigger road soon."

He could feel Sam watching him. "You're stalling, aren't you?"

He tried not to look guilty. "So, uh, tell me more about this crazy vision of yours."

"Okay, you're not taking the fastest route. I'll help you navigate."

"Control freak," Dean muttered.

Sam ignored him.

...

Dean pulled off near Little Rock.

"Why are you stopping?"

"I'm hungry."

"Dude, we ate like, a few hours ago."

"But that was yesterday!"

"And it's 4 a.m., nothing's open."

"Hey, use your fancy software and see if they've got one of those waffle places."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Three miles. Take a left."

...

His baby got sick outside Waffle House.

"Sorry darling," he murmured when the engine didn't turn over. "I got distracted."

"What's wrong?" Sam frowned at the empty click when Dean turned the key.

"When I fixed her up after the accident, I borrowed an old starter from Bobby. Meant to replace it ages ago."

"Which means?"

"Don't worry about it. We'll wait 'til morning then I'll just... find another starter."

"It's an old car, Dean, are you sure it's gonna be that easy?"

"I said I'll take care of it, all right?" His voice was sharper than he'd intended. "Just, sit tight, I'll be right back."

The waitress beamed at him. "Forget something, love?"

"Ah, no. Can you point me to the nearest motel?"

She giggled. "Hon, it's about four miles down. Best way is to get back on the highway."

"Is there any other way to get there? Like, say, walking?"

"Oh! Um, yeah." She pulled him to the back window. "See that road there?"

...

Groggy and irritable, they packed their bags and hiked north in the early morning mist.

"Man, I hate Arkansas," Dean pouted.

"How can you hate Arkansas? It's like, an entire state."

He shrugged. "Well, I don't actually hate-"

"Think I know what you mean, though."

"Huh?"

"I dunno. I get a bad feeling about it."

"What, like some kind of premonition or something?"

"Not exactly. I just don't like it."

Dean shook his head. "Doesn't that crap weigh you down?" He didn't know how to put it. "I mean, don't you get worn out?"

Sam squinted at him. "Dean, if you could learn to acknowledge your feelings, you probably wouldn't get so overwhelmed by them."

"You know what-" he started, then sighed. "Sam, we're just tired. Let's not fight about this."

"We weren't fighting, Dean."

"Well then would you relax? We're getting there as fast as we can, alright?"

Sam bumped into him. "I know." He ducked his head, smiling. "You know what would help me relax?"

"Come on, Sam! We're working a job here."

"Dean... That's not what I meant!" Sam was looking down at his pants, frowning.

"Perv," Dean shoved him away.

"Wait a second. What's that?"

"What's what?"

Sam grabbed a crumpled sheet of paper that had worked its way out of Dean's pocket as they walked. He looked at the illustrations - shiny holly leaves and plump, red berries. "Dean, where'd you get this?"

"Just some motel." It was true.

Sam frowned.

"Don't try to create some deeper message," Dean warned. "I didn't mean to keep it."

...

"It's not even night anymore," Sam was moody.

"Hey, let's just stop for a bit, all right? Nothing we can do about the car right now anyway. Here, drink this," he handed Sam a beer, then pulled off his socks and shoes and flopped onto one of the beds.

Sam sat awake with his laptop, doing research. It looked boring. Dean yawned.

...

He knocked on the bathroom door for like, the fiftieth time.

"I wanna brush my teeth! Quit taking so long," he called through the door.

Sam didn't answer.

"Sam? Sammy? You okay in there?"

"Fine," he grunted.

"Then let me in!"

"Dude, just give me a second."

He waited for at least ten seconds before dropping quietly to the floor and peering under the door.  _Ahaha, Sam's totally jerking off._ He smiled, and waited.

Sam opened the door with a sharp click.  _How does he manage to make the latch sound pissy?_ Dean wondered.

Sam glared. "What?"

"I wanna brush my teeth?"

"That's great, Dean." He looked away.

He cocked his eyebrow. "You've been jerking off in the bathroom like, three times a day... something on your mind?"

"Yeah, nice attempt at sounding casual."

"Ah come on, Sammy, don't be mad. I just wanted to know if..."  _Hmm. What do I want to know, exactly?_

Sam flared his nostrils. "Say it."

"What, I can't be concerned for my brother?"

"That's not what this is."

"Then what the hell is it?"

Sam sighed. "Look, Dean, you've gotta know on some level that you're driving me insane." There was a plea in his voice.

He felt a strange pressure in his chest. "Driving you-"  _What_? "You saying you don't... Are you trying to say you're sick of me?"

"Damn it. Dean, that's not what I meant. Just," Sam put a hand on his shoulder. "I'm not sick of you, okay?" Sam looked directly into his eyes. "So don't worry about it."

Dean was suddenly intensely uncomfortable - his body was reacting oddly. He brushed Sam's hand off. "Yeah, I was petrified," he said sarcastically, walking away. He pulled his bag open roughly and started hunting for a toothbrush.

Sam was standing behind him. "I almost forgot," he said quietly.

Dean kept his body perfectly still. "What?"

"You don't cave under pressure, Dean. So what should I make of all the stuff that happened between us? I mean, maybe you really would do anything for me, but," he gave a short, derisive laugh, " _that's_  going a little far."

Dean stood, facing him.  _Do we have to talk about this?_ he thought wearily.

"Not to mention you... you fucking started it, man. You don't just  _give in_. Not to most people. Not even to me. Which makes me wonder," Sam stepped closer, sliding his hand under the back of Dean's shirt, "what you actually want. Maybe you don't even know."

Dean's skin tingled as if electricity were being discharged through his body. He focused on keeping his breathing steady.

Sam's voice was kind, but there was an odd glint in his eyes. "Dean, please don't keep making me guess."

His heart thudded.  _Just adrenaline,_ he reminded himself. "Sam..." he trailed off. Couldn't think of a comeback.  _I need to pull away right now,_ he thought.  _Dad, why?_

"You liked it, didn't you?" Sam whispered against his cheek.

"Maybe- maybe you're projecting."

"That doesn't explain your behavior."

He laughed bitterly. "Sam, you're such a lightweight."

"No, don't change the subject. I wanna know why you reacted that way."

"What? When?"

"You know," Sam looked serious, "When we had sex."

Dean shuddered.  _Wow, this shouldn't be turning me on._ He tried to focus on disturbing images, like ghouls and shapeshifter leftovers, but Sam was so close...

"Tell me," Sam insisted.

_'Watch out for your little brother.' Agony_. "I'm thinking, dammit!"

Sam backed off. "Dean, try not to kill yourself with guilt, okay? It's kinda pointless."

"Yeah, you're right," he said after a moment. "Who  _doesn't_  want a casual fuck sometimes?"

He met Sam's eyes, expecting to see pain, anger... but all he saw was careful composure. It was impossible to tell whether Sam was furious or amused.

_He's scary when he's calm. Like Dad._

"That's bullshit, Dean." A smile played at the corners of his lips. "Of all the possible explanations, you thought I'd buy  _that?_  That you just wanted to get laid?"

Dean felt something disconnecting inside of him. "Sam," he said hoarsely, gripping Sam's face, pulling their foreheads together, sliding his hands behind Sam's neck. "Sam... I messed up, okay?" He drew a shaky breath.

"Dean-"

"No, I shouldn't have done that. It's sick. Sammy... I'm sorry."

And Sam's cast was hard against his lower back, holding him close. Big fingers spread between his shoulderblades. "Dean, it's okay."

He was spent - his reserves were gone. Sam held him steady.

"You think you owe Dad something? I'm sure he had good intentions, but God, he pulled you back here... who knows. You might have gone to heaven, you know that, Dean? Or, well, purgatory..."

"What, you actually believe in that crap?" Dean choked, not sure if he wanted to laugh or cry.

"Dean, the point is, you can feel as guilty as you want but for all you know, he didn't even do it for you. Maybe he did it for the world. Or for me."

Dean stared at the floor, thinking of his father's last words to him. "You have no idea."

...

Even after he fixed the Impala, it took them a long time to get to Oregon, though Sam insisted he floor it the entire way.

_Hurry, hurry_. It was written in every expression Sam made. Friggin' impatient. Plus, Sam was being a little bitch about it, tracking their progress on the GPS so Dean couldn't take the long way there. Annoying.

It wasn't that, though. Dean just didn't want to go to Oregon right now.

...


	14. -S2E10-

[ _Set **during** Season 2, Ep. 10 - "Hunted"_]

...

"Sammy, please, talk to me man."

Sam was silent.

Dean tapped the steering wheel with his thumb. "Look, why don't we get some sleep. I mean, we've missed plenty in the past week, huh? Hell, I'm tired."

He glanced at his little brother. Sam's jaw was set. He was staring out the window at something Dean couldn't see.

"Okay, sunshine." He borrowed Sam's phone with the silly GPS application and typed in 'motels.' It beeped:

**.1 Miles - The Velvet Inn**

"Home, sweet home," he pulled off the road as it started to rain.

...

Dean brushed his teeth, turned off the lights, stretched drowsily and sank down onto his bed in underwear. Sam was lying on top of the bedspread, four feet away, pondering the opposite wall. He still hadn't spoken.

_I can't fucking take any more of this._  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, preparing himself -  _For what I'd do, how far I'd go..._ he shivered.

"So what, you're never gonna talk to me again?" He tried to keep his voice neutral.

"No."

"Well, that's a start. From there you can move on to phrases with three or four letters." He walked over to Sam's bed and sat down next to him. "What's your favorite four-letter word, Sam?"

"Dean-"

"Wow, really?"

"No- I mean... Shut up," Sam rolled his eyes.

"Ah, Sam, they don't teach you anything at Stanford. 'Shut up' has more than four letters."

"Dean... what do you want?"

He thought for a minute. "Two first-class one-way tickets to Cancun with two beautiful flight attendants on a private jet and those mini sandwiches from that deli near Chicago..." he trailed off, eyes glazed.

"Why do you need two tickets?"

"So you can come, of course."

Sam sat up, dangling one leg over the side of the bed. His toes brushed Dean's calf. "What if I don't wanna come?"

"It's all hypothetical anyway."

"Would you still go?" Sam's face looked gaunt, drawn in the green afternoon shadows.

Dean shrugged. "Probably not."

Sam was quiet.

Dean shot a look of openmouthed exasperation at the ceiling, then flopped over Sam's leg, grabbing the remote off the nightstand. The TV flicked on to show grainy boats and water. It appeared to be a documentary on animals.  _What are they doing?_ Dean peered at the screen in fascination.

"Oh, God, Dean..."

"It's dolphin sex, Sammy," Dean turned to him, grinning.

Sam looked like he was trying really hard not to smile. "You are deeply weird." He stole the remote and turned the television off. "I mean it. Your eyes were fucking  _sparkling_ when you said that."

Dean froze. "My eyes don't sparkle."

Sam raised his eyebrows.

"What?"

"Um. Hey Dean, do you trust me?"

"Dude, no chick flick moments."  _What the hell kind of question is that all of a sudden?_

"Just, I need to know. Do you?"

He hesitated. Sam was looking at him intensely. "Yeah. I trust you Sammy."

"So... just trust me, all right?"

Dean scowled.  _What's with this cryptic bullshit_ _?_  "Fine. Doesn't mean I'm gonna stop trying to protect you."

"That's pretty ironic," Sam said quietly.

"Why, because you think you're going to turn into some psycho-killer whack job? Sam..." he felt incredibly tired all of a sudden. Sam's face was blank, distant, closing him out.  _Fuck this. I don't know what the hell I'm doing,_ Dean thought. He just wanted to get Sam's attention, or something... He kissed him on the mouth.

Sam shoved him away. "Dean, what are you-"

He tugged at the button on Sam's pants, unzipping them. Sam grabbed Dean's hands and held them up in the space between them, thumbs pressing deep into his open palms, cast digging into the side of his left hand. Sam was regarding him, silently questioning. Dean tried to smile but he didn't quite manage, and dropped his eyes. He felt his shoulders droop a little. Then Sam's hand was on the back of his head, strong, gentle, pulling them together.

The next few minutes were a blur - he was sprawling on Sam's bed and then they were on the floor and Sam was pushing something cold inside him with his fingers. He hadn't meant for it to go  _that_ far, necessarily, but there was no way he was backing down now. His vision got fuzzy as Sam touched him; he closed his eyes and tried to kiss him but he wasn't there anymore - he was pulling Dean up by his shoulders so he knelt on the scratchy carpet, grabbing his hips, drawing their bodies together, grinding against him.  _Aww, he wants it. So cute,_ Dean thought hazily.

Dean's sense-memory fired indistinct warnings as Sam pushed him onto his back - last time had hurt, and if that monstrously sized... thing was going in his ass again, he was going to be in control this time. He drew a shaky breath.

"Sam, don't," he said against his lips.

Sam stopped.  _It's okay -_ is it? -  _just not like that._  He pulled Sam's shirt off, then pulled his own socks off so that they were completely naked, and let Sam kiss him deeply, running his fingers lightly down the planes of his muscular torso.

"You're right," Sam panted, "Not on the floor."

They tumbled onto the covers together and Dean managed to get Sam on his back. He sat astride him, holding him down with his weight. Sam raised his eyebrows, smiling slightly. Dean couldn't look away from his eyes for some reason. Sam's fingers were inside him again and  _fuck_ that felt good; he groaned and touched himself. Sam kept his gaze steady, reflecting none of the embarrassment Dean felt.

Sam sat up. Dean hesitated -  _s_ _o humiliating -_ then crawled closer. Their noses touched. He slowly lowered himself onto Sam's erection.

Dean shuddered - it felt weird and full and deep - but Sam's expression made him move. He lifted himself slowly, and let that stiffness plunge into his body again, and again. Sam brought his face down with one heavy hand behind his neck, kissing him hard, other hand squeezing Dean's ass possessively. Dean steeled himself and continued to move, gasping against Sam's mouth from the pressure on his insides. He wasn't going fast enough.

"Dean..."

"Yeah, I know. Just do it already."

Sam lifted him easily by the hips and laid him on his back, spreading his legs obscenely. Dean squeezed his eyes shut. Holding his thighs so his ass was in the air, Sam rammed into him. Rough, fast. Dean saw stars.

He slung one arm over his face, gritting his teeth so he wouldn't cry out at the heaviness moving inside him. The rushing sensation was building in his blood.

Sam paused and leaned over Dean's chest, nudging his shoulder into the back of Dean's leg.

"Dean?"

He moved his arm a little to see what was happening.

"Hey... you wanna stop?"

Dean shook his head, No.

Sam looked concerned. His bangs were all sweaty. Dean grinned.

He pulled Sam close. "Harder," he whispered.

And then it was slow, and gentle, and sweet.

...

The rain fell softly outside the window. The streetlights, raindrops, and shades conspired to cast mesmerizing patterns on the wall.

Sam's good hand traced some design down Dean's back. He didn't moan with pleasure or anything,  _because that would be cheesy. And my butt hurts._ He turned his face sleepily against Sam's other arm, inhaling the warm scent of his skin, and chuckling to himself. From this vantage point, everything looked amusing.

"Where do you wanna go tomorrow?"

"California," Sam deadpanned.

"No, seriously," he said through a yawn.

Sam kissed him between his shoulders. "Why don't we think about that later?"

"Okay," Dean smiled. Before he knew it, he was fast asleep.

...

Dean woke up aching, but happy. He wasn't really sure why at first, but remembered as he pulled his underwear on. He needed a shower.

He rubbed his eyes and looked over at the other bed. "Sam?"  _M_ _ust be in the toilet._ He smirked, padding over to the door to harass his brother.

"You're such a girl, Sammy, spending so much time in the bathr-" he stopped as he pushed the door open. The bathroom was empty. "Sam?" he whispered at it.

"Sam!" he tore through the motel room, looking under the beds, then rolled his eyes at himself.  _Yeah, as if he's down there. Maybe he just went for coffee?_ But Sam's backpack was gone.  _Think, Dean, he can't have gotten far._ The keys to the Impala were on the table.

_Why didn't I wake up?_

He stepped outside, trying not to panic. Sam wasn't there. Someone whistled at him and he looked down at himself.  _Clothes, Dean, you need to wear clothes._

He yanked open the closet door, knocking over a mess of wire coat hangers.  _Fuck. Never should have taught him that trick. If he's got a car, he could be anywhere._ He fumbled for his jacket, dropping his phone - "Shit, come on, Dean!" - and started to call the operator, then hung up on the first ring and called Bobby.

"Bobby, I fucked up. Sam's gone."

"What did you do, boy?"

"Trust me, you don't want to know."

Bobby was silent for a moment. "What do you need me to do?"

...

It was a great day. Clear, bright. He felt lightheaded.

He found himself in the car, driving back to the river they'd talked by the day before.  _No way he's gonna be there, though._ And he wasn't.

Dean got out of the Impala and slammed the door. He squatted by the water. "Sam, where are you?" he asked it.

It was beautiful. It mocked him.

_I couldn't have done a better job of driving him away._

"Shit." He passed a hand over his eyes and sat down on his ass, hard, grimacing in pain.

...

He was lying on his back in the dirt, staring up into the blinding sunlight. Slowly, as if he were in a dream, he dug a hand into his pocket and fished out his phone. He'd called Bobby ten times. The last time, Bobby had snapped at him, "Dammit, Dean, I'll let you know as soon as I find out about that stolen car, but I can't get any work done if you keep calling me!" His voice had dropped low, then, filled with sympathy. "Dean, I know you miss him-" Dean had pressed the END button.

He scrolled through his contacts, wincing when he got to "E." He pressed SEND.

She picked up on the second ring.

"Ellen?" he said hoarsely.

"Dean... what's wrong?"

"Ellen, I have no right asking you this, but please."

...

[ _Continue Season 2, Ep. 10 - "Hunted"_ ]


	15. S2E10

[ _Set after Season 2, Ep. 10 - "Hunted"_ ]

...

Iowa was endless farmland, and Nebraska was even more spread out.  _Like freakin' Kansas,_ he thought distractedly.

Sam had filled him in on electro-boy, and Ava... From what he said, Ava sounded pretty normal - less Mad Max, more Andy.  _And Sam._ Dean grimaced, ignoring the squirming sensation in his gut. So Andy and Ava were okay, except now Ava was missing, and the evidence they'd found at her house hadn't told them jack squat about where she might be. Dean didn't know what was going on in the creepy demon world, or how big of a crush Sam had on Ava, but he hoped, for Sam's sake, that she didn't turn up dead. Or worse. And Gordon...

_"Your brother's fair game."_

He had to know. If other hunters were getting the same bright ideas as Gordon, he would deal with them... by whatever means necessary. Sam could lay low while Dean was scoping the situation out. He had some Roadhouse contacts that might be useful, not to mention Ellen.  _I should probably thank her..._

"You've been quiet," Sam nudged him.

_Hang in there, Sammy. We'll be there soon. You can get some rest, re-charge. Find out what we're dealing with before we go on some 'rescue mission.'_  He knew that whatever had made Ava disappear might be interested in Sam, too.

Sam sighed. "Dean, come on."

"What?" Dean glanced at him. Sam looked restless. "Sam, you're worried about Ava. I get it. But think about it - if whatever did that to her boyfriend was gonna gank her too, why didn't we find a body?"

"I don't know." It sounded vaguely ominous.

"Hey, you like her, huh?" he said neutrally, changing the subject.

Sam raised one eyebrow. "Are you jealous?"

"Nah. She is kinda hot though."

"Her fiance just  _died_ , Dean. Why are we even talking about this?"

Dean shrugged, suddenly fascinated by the odometer.

Sam watched him carefully, a smirk beginning at the corners of his mouth. "Anyway, you know that's not what I meant."

"Oh. Well, then, I have no idea what you're talking about." He smiled uncomfortably and flipped the radio on.

_♪ Radar Lo-ove ♪_

"You do that when you're avoiding something," Sam was grinning now.

Dean wrinkled his brow. "Yeah, good point," he said, turning the volume up.

...

As they turned down the final stretch of road, Dean pulled off. Outside the globe of the headlights, they were surrounded by darkness.

"Hey Sam," he said quietly. "I need you to keep your head down while we're here."

"Dean-"

"I mean it. Don't do anything stupid."

"Dean, I'll be fine."

"Right," he murmured. He couldn't meet Sam's eyes.

"I'm going to start searching for Ava. See if Ash can dig up any leads."

"Demonic omens?"

"For starters, yeah."

"Uh, yeah, that's a good idea. Hey, speaking of, why is it so easy to take cases lately?"

"Wait... now you're saying it's  _easy_  to take cases?"

"No! No. I mean, just, after that showdown last year I figured hordes of demons would be tracking us down, you know? Trying to get some action," Dean made a lewd gesture.

Sam was not amused. He thought about it for a moment, frowning. "I don't know. Maybe it's like... the calm before the storm?"

"Sam," Dean clapped a hand on his shoulder. "You'd be a fine meteorologist."

Sam gave him a withering look. Dean smiled inwardly as he pulled back onto the road.

...

The Impala stopped in front of the Roadhouse at 0250. Ellen was sweeping the front stoop. She shaded her eyes, squinting into the headlights, fingertips brushing her handgun. "That you, Dean?" she called as he got out.

"Hey Ellen. We needed Ash to, uh, find us something evil to hunt," he fibbed, smiling broadly. "Real dry spell lately."

Ellen narrowed her eyes at him. To his relief, he felt Sam come up behind him.

"Sam," Ellen said gently, looking them over. "Good to see you boys together again."

Sam gave her a tight-lipped smile, dimpling his cheeks. Dean recognized his expression as respect laced with annoyance.  _He used to give Dad that look._

Ellen was unfazed. "Y'all boys can head in, I'm almost done out here."

Dean started in after his brother, but Ellen stopped him. "Knock that mud off your boots, Dean. I just swept there."

Dean made a face, but he did as he was told.

...

The three of them sat behind the empty bar, drinking and talking. Sam didn't say much but he seemed okay. Ellen gave him a key when his eyes started to glaze over.  _Lightweight,_ Dean thought, smirking.

"Y'all boys can have that room for about a week this time." She glanced from Sam to Dean. "I know you've got a lot to look into."

"Thanks, Ellen," Sam said, getting up slowly. He gave Ellen's shoulder an affectionate squeeze, then laid a heavy hand on Dean's head. "Night, Dean."

"Handsy drunk," Dean muttered.

...

"So, what's going on between you two boys?" Ellen's voice was gravelly, but kind.

Dean stared at the stains darkening the surface of the bar. "Hell, I don't even know."

She watched him closely. "Well, nobody's perfect."

"What do you mean?"

She thought about it. "Your daddy, he used to come by sometimes. Before my Bill died."

Dean nodded.

"We really were just friends," she looked down, "for most of that time."

"Shit," Dean breathed.

"You got that right," Ellen said. She grabbed a bucket of soapy water and began scrubbing the bar vigorously. Dean watched her movements and realized he knew exactly how she felt. He stood, stopping her weathered hands and wrapping his arms around her. She didn't hug him back, just stood there. Bill was gone. She'd made a mistake and she could never apologize. She hated herself for it.

She pulled away. "I'm okay, sweetie. That was a long time ago."

"Why are you telling me all this?"

"Well, it went against my better judgment, even back then. But I trusted your daddy because-" She stopped herself. "Sam asked about it. Don't get me wrong - John was a good man."

"And Sam-"

"Sam's a helluva lot like him."

Dean closed his eyes. "I know."

She shook her head. "Sorry, it's none of my business."

He leaned back against the damp bar. "So what am I supposed to do, Ellen?"

She was silent for a moment. "Well, you can't change who you are. You boys are close." She dropped her voice, even though they were the only ones in the room. "And between you and me, there ain't nothing wrong with that." She winked at him.

"Gross." He wrinkled his nose, feeling oddly at peace.

She tossed down the dishrag. "Anyway, you're not gonna listen if I give you advice."

"Ah come on, Ellen," he rubbed his eyes.

"Sweetie, it's way past your bedtime."

"Yeah, screw it," Dean said casually.

Ellen raised her eyebrows.  


"All right, all right!" He grinned and headed for the door - the idea of disobeying Ellen gave him scary chills. Then he turned, and, in the most adult way possible, said, "Ellen... thanks. Thanks for everything."

She nodded, brown eyes warm. "I won't charge you for that bottle in your jacket..."

Dean did a celebratory fistpump.

"...but if you steal from me a third time, I'll hunt you down."

He ducked out quickly, eyes huge. As Dean locked the door to the spare room behind him, he realized Sam had left it unlocked. He frowned.

...


	16. Stargazing?

...

Dean sighed. Same room, same single bed.

He removed his clothes slowly, trying to judge whether Sam was asleep. He stalled, wandering out into the hall in his t-shirt and boxers to brush his teeth. When he came back, Sam hadn't moved.

He sank into the sheets, making as little commotion as possible. He could feel Sam's breath on the back of his neck.

"Sam? You awake?" he whispered.

"Am now," Sam mumbled.

"The door was open."

"Yeah. So?" A heavy arm dropped around his waist, and Sam pulled him back against his large, hot body.

Dean remained rigid. "So? How many times I got to tell you to lock the freakin' door?" he hissed. "Sam, don't get sloppy on me, man."

"Relax, Platoon Commander Deanface," Sam grumbled.

"All right, you're wasted, we'll talk about this later."

"Can prove it."

"What?"

"You're worried. Think I can't protect myself. Can prove I'm tough. Strong."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

Since he asked so nicely, Dean threw Sam's arm off and flipped him onto his back, keeping him down with a knee to the chest and holding his hands together above his head, using the cast to weigh Sam's left hand down. The thumb of Dean's dominant hand traced Sam's trachea, like it had when they were kids. A lethal tinge had likewise taught Dean to keep his focus while John trained him. "Yeah, you're right. You're ready for anything." He felt his lip curling the way his father's had.

Sam powered out of the hold. Dean rolled off him just in time to avoid a headlock, but Sam pinned him facedown, one arm twisted behind his back, the way Dean always did it.

"Or not," Dean said, struggling to get out of the hold. "Get off me."

Sam flopped down next to him. "Toldja. Strong," he murmured sleepily against the side of Dean's neck.

Dean turned away. "Yeah, well..."

"...want you to protect  _yourself_ ," Sam kissed the back of his head.

"I always do," he said irritably. "Just maybe not from my pain-in-the-ass little brother."

Dean had meant it as a jab at their sexual relations, but Sam took it more personally. He spoke slowly, pausing between thoughts. "You think that? Gordon thinks that. Well, I'll save lots of people. Change my destiny. Then you won't be scared of me."

Dean fingered the collar of his t-shirt, feeling the warmth of the metal beneath it. "Sam, I don't scare that easy."

Sam shifted onto his side and scooted his hips up behind Dean's so they were spooning. Dean felt something hard pressing against his butt. Suddenly pissed, he pushed Sam off of him and sat up facing the window, naked feet touching the cold floorboards.

"Dean?"

"Give me a minute."

Sam did. That only pissed Dean off more - even inebriated, Sam had the patience of a saint. He drew his knees up and turned to face his brother, giving Sam's bare chest a halfhearted shove. Sam took his face in both hands and pulled him down into a kiss. He succumbed for a moment before gritting his teeth and pushing Sam away, losing his balance as he did so and landing hard on his elbow. The bedsprings creaked loudly.

Sam snickered, "Stop it, Dean, you're gonna break the bed."

Dean's eyes got wide for a moment - he was normally well-coordinated, so losing his equilibrium had startled him - and he thought,  _Damn, that's pretty racy_. Images of Sam screwing him flashed in front of his eyes, followed by the empty motel room, coat hangers, and the water of the lake; falling tasted like surreal flashbacks of Sam, gone. Dean didn't know how to reconcile the two sensations - polar opposites that were, perhaps, causally linked. So, instead of acknowledging either, he yawned and stretched out on his belly next to Sam, fully aware that he was taking up more than half of the bed.

...

He woke up more than once - Sam was invading his personal space. He closed his eyes and willed his heart to slow down. Sam's body was way too warm against his back.  _The hell... I c_ _an't sleep like this,_  he thought as he drifted off again.

...

Sam was in Ash's room, doing research, though he'd been hesitant to go. Dean smirked, wondering if Ash's nudity habit made Sam uncomfortable. They'd slept half the day, or at least Dean had; Sam had apparently done something outside that made him shiny with sweat, and he'd undressed right in Dean's line of sight as Dean woke up. This annoyed Dean. He also kept expecting Jo to pop up, which, to his disappointment, she didn't.

In the low winter light of the dusty afternoon, Sam had helped Ellen make some sort of food on a giant stove in the kitchen. Dean could literally  _see_ them getting along, which he found creepy. Then Ellen had given him some of the pot-roast stuff, and it was delicious, which irked Dean for some reason. They'd shared a meal with Ellen and Ash like some wacky family. Ash, who seemed nearly-sober, had then sat across the bar from Dean to demonstrate how the demon-tracker algorithm worked on his homemade computer, and Ellen stood behind Ash, cleaning glasses. Nobody saw the stupid, comforting hand Sam rested against Dean's lower back. At the pressure from Sam's fingertips, Dean's front side had responded with tragicomic readiness. When Ash and Ellen left them alone for a moment, Dean had told Sam to quit worrying about him because he was fine, and Sam had given Dean some strange look... Dean wasn't sure he wanted to know what it meant. By early evening, when Dean instructed Sam to stay out of sight during bar hours in case any nutjob hunters decided he was prey, Dean was more than aware of his own grumpiness. It was a heavy feeling.

TL;DR: Dean was antsy. He was vaguely aware of wanting to do something... or get in the car and drive until they were several states away.

He was sitting across from a hunter named Steve. Steve had a high forehead, curly hair, and a fairly terrible reputation among hunters, but he was nice enough. He'd been on good terms with Dean's father, and Dean had known him, peripherally, for years. In determining whether or not he needed to murder other hunters, Dean figured Steve was as good a place to start as anyone.

They sat around the corner behind the pool table - Dean had insisted, so Ellen wouldn't see - and Steve rolled a really tight blunt. He took a hit, coughed, passed it, and didn't slobber much -  _What a champ_ , Dean thought.

"So, what's your little brother getting up to?"

"Ah, I don't really know," Dean fibbed. "Last I heard he was in Wisconsin."

"Huh. You two used to be pretty tight when you were kids. What's he doing in Wisconsin?"

"Taking care of personal business." Dean nodded at Steve, "What about your partner?"

"Nah, he's not here. And he usually is, too, so I can't talk," Steve said with a half-smile.

Dean was glad for that. It wasn't that he disliked Steve's friend, he remembered him as some competitive blond guy with a bowl cut, but he couldn't recall his name.  _Tommy? Tony?_

"Anyway, suppose it's for the best," Steve continued. "Heard a thing or two about your brother lately."

Dean smiled bitterly. "Oh yeah? What sort of things?"

"Not much good. Hear tell that he's in league with demons, or he will be at some point. Bad business."

Dean leaned his chair back on two legs and said casually, "Things you hear, man. Not that I'd know. So what do you think?"

"Hell, I don't know, Dean. I remember the kid. Didn't even wanna shoot rabbits. Me, I'm surprised he became a hunter. Must've been drawn to the job somehow."

Steve glanced at him. Dean shrugged.

"Anyway, it don't seem likely, if you ask me."

"You know who's been spreading the word?"

"That Gordon, him an' his friend, mostly. Said he got the info from a demon, down south."

Dean wrinkled his forehead. "Yeah, Gordon's a bundle of fun. Thought he liked flying solo."

"Oh he do, he do..." Steve trailed off, lost in thought.

They smoked in silence for a few minutes. Dean frowned a little - he'd thought Steve would elaborate. He tried a different tactic. "It's a shame, man. Sam's a good hunter. You think he'll have to head for the hills on account of some, I dunno, office rumor, or something?" he quipped.

"Well this ain't no office, pretty boy."

Dean mentally rolled his eyes - Steve was probably too stoned to impart any useful information at this point - and declined another hit. "Nah, I mean  _office_ , like in that show, with- with the rumor lady! You know what I'm talking about? The one with the tongue?"

Steve chuckled. "Yeah, I've seen it. Threw me for a second, there. Thought you were talking something you can see at a thee-ater."

"Well, uh, I'm sure they show it somewhere. Maybe downstairs," Dean did 'the tongue thing,' grinning irreverently.

Steve stared at him for a second, then roared with laughter, slapping his knee. "You're really something, kid. I tell you, you're nothing like Johnny. Good ole guy, never saw him laugh."

"Yeah," Dean said darkly, twirling his empty beer bottle slowly between his palms.

"Hey, let me buy you another drink."

"Tempting, but I don't swing that way."

Steve was straightforward. "I don't either. Still, you're prolly the prettiest thing in town."

Dean maintained his composure despite the icy feeling in the pit of his stomach. "Yeah... Too bad Jo's not here. She's got better legs."  _Ellen's hot too,_ he thought, then stopped himself.

Steve checked over his shoulder. "Bitch nearly chopped my balls off last time I came through these parts."

"Yeah?" Dean smiled. He liked Jo more every time he thought about her. Before he knew it he was on his feet.

"Aw, Dean, I freaked you out. I'm sorry."

"Nope. No, I, uh, just remembered I came to drown my sorrows." He raised his empty bottle in mock-salute, and left before Steve could reply.

Dean wandered back to the bar and plopped down in front of Ellen, hoping she wouldn't sniff him.

Ellen didn't smile. "You've got a hunter staring at you. 6 o'clock."

"I owe him money," Dean grunted.

She corked a half-empty fifth of scotch and handed him the bottle. "Ash opened his door, so he's done working for the night. Why don't you share that with him? I'll take care of Steve."

He looked at her gratefully.

"Get going now," she said brusquely.

...

"Hey Ash. Where's Sam?"

Ash raised his eyebrows as if trying to wake himself up in the process. "Out back prolly, somewhere..." he slurred, and gestured vaguely towards the ceiling.

"Right... Thanks for your help." Dean turned to leave.

"He went that way," Ash pointed at the window.

"Alright. Thanks, man."

The window was still open. Dean grinned at the thought of Sam climbing out, then frowned, and did it himself, gripping the sill with both hands before dropping silently to the ground below. He jumped up and pulled the window shut, since Ash would probably freeze to death without realizing he was cold.

The Roadhouse wasn't huge, but the space behind it was quiet. Dean ran his fingers over the shiny black hood of the Impala, which reflected the small amount of light leaking from Ash's window. "Hey baby," he said to her.

"Dean," Sam responded, stepping out of the shadows and slamming the trunk.

"Sam? What're you..."

"Packing."

Dean's heart missed a beat. "Packing?"

"Yeah, I just... thought you might want to head out."

"Oh." Dean leaned back against the side of the car. Sam was doing his  _other_ freaky psychic thing - the one that didn't involve actual psychic powers.

Sam leaned against the car too, close but not touching. It was quite dark, and the night air was clear and cold. There were millions of stars visible.

"Dean, can I..."

Dean looked over at his brother. Sam was looking up at the stars. "What is it, Sammy?"

Sam faced him. Dean could make out his jaw and the shape of his lips, but his eyes were hidden in shadows. "Nothing." He turned back to the night sky.

Sam just kept looking at the goddamn stars. Dean wondered what he was going to ask about. When he thought about it, he kinda knew. He glanced at the Roadhouse. Less than six yards away, it was blind to them.  _Whatever,_ Dean thought, standing between Sam and all the unreachable dreams the stars represented.  _Sam, please, come back to earth,_ he thought, and brushed a kiss against his brother's cheek. Sam's hand was cool against the side of his neck, and he pulled Dean close, resting their foreheads together, nuzzling his nose like a freakin' puppy.

Dean sighed. Everything felt surreal.  _Stupid fucking stars_.

Sam smiled against his cheek. "Thanks for that," he said, grabbing Dean's hips playfully.

Dean let Sam spin him around and pull their bodies together. He leaned his head back against Sam's shoulder, gazing blankly at those stars. Sam wrapped his arms around him, pressing his nose behind Dean's ear, squeezing him a little. Dean shivered as Sam's chilly fingers ran over the gooseflesh on his stomach, right underneath the hem of his shirt.

"All right," Dean said wearily after a few minutes.

"Feel better?"

"No," Dean lied. "I feel like the friggin' cat in the hat."

"Dude, you smell like weed," Sam pointed out.

"Yeah, yeah. Didn't you and Ash have some weirdo geek party or something?"

"No, we were working."

Dean was skeptical.

"He... drinks while he works," Sam added.

"Yeah, I could see that. Find anything?"

"Not really."

They were both silent for a long time.

...

"What're you thinking about, Pluto?" he leaned back a little, feeling Sam's core heat behind him.

Sam was quiet for a moment. "Some of the stars we see have already died," he murmured.

"Died as in, gone out?"

"Yeah."

"Really?"

Sam nodded against his neck.

"Huh. How come we still see them?"

"Light only travels so fast, Dean. Some stars are really far away."

Sam's hands were freezing. Dean realized he wasn't wearing a coat. He turned, and kissed Sam gently, one last time. "Bundle up, dumbass," he said against his lips.

"I love you," Sam replied simply.

"I know. Come on, Sammy, let's go inside."

...


	17. Ash/PoolTable

[ _Several hours later..._ ]

...

Dean had a mostly incomprehensible dream about the Incredible Hulk getting drunk on apple schnapps and passing out on top of him, leaving him to wonder if he'd still be all hulked-out when he woke up. Dean had just figured that if he didn't like Brucey when he was angry, he'd probably  _love_ him when he was hungover, when he himself woke up to discover that angry green alter-egos were the least of his worries.

Sam was sleeping on top of him, half-erect against the inside of his thigh.  _Shit,_ he thought, and tried to wiggle out from under Sam's heavy frame. Sam just threw a big arm loosely over his escape route and kept sleeping.  _Son of a bitch._ He turned slightly, and Sam's hot breath blew in his face.

He didn't particularly want to wake his brother up, but he didn't see much choice in the matter. If he could just get his arms between them, he could shove him off, but... he rolled his eyes and shook Sam's shoulder. Sam stirred, kissed his neck, and settled back into sleeping.

Dean was getting pissed.  _Who even sleeps like that?_ he thought,  _Freakin' Sasquatch._ "Sam," he growled.

Sam kept sleeping.

"Oh, I'm so gonna kick your ass. Sam! Wake up!"

Sam lifted his head. "Dean?" he mumbled, sounding genuinely confused.

"No, I'm the evil stuffed bear who desperately wants your clothes to be softer! Get  _off._ " _  
_

"Oh god, Dean, I'm sorry, I thought -"

"What?"

Sam rubbed his face and didn't answer the question. Dean felt sticky with sweat and significantly more aroused than he was comfortable with, so he got awkwardly out of bed (he had to crawl over Sam first) and crouched on the floor in the dark, rifling through their bag until he found a bar of motel soap. The key scraped the night table as he slid it off, careful not to look back at Sam. He knew Sam would be sitting there with his hair sticking up, giving him that sad-questioney look.

"Dean?"

Dean pulled the door shut and locked it quietly. There was no shower in the bar bathroom, so he tiptoed to the other bathroom, which was behind Ash's room, and flipped on the lights.

Ellen had tried to decorate. There was a cactus.

Dean found a faded towel under the sink and soaped up under the warm water. The extra heat really wasn't helping; his erection bobbed in the ample water pressure, so he switched the tap all the way cold, shuddering as the icy water spilled over his chest and ran in rivulets down his spine. When he'd calmed down and gotten his body to relax despite the water temperature, he shut his eyes tightly and pressed two fingers against his asshole, easing them in and cleaning himself out the way he'd done for a while.  _Not for any particular reason_ , he thought. After failing to think of something else, he pushed his fingers in again, trying to find the spot Sam always touched. He couldn't find it, but the pressure felt nice. He rested his forehead and his right knee against the tiles, jacking off with his left hand, balls just out of reach of the cold water. It took longer, and he pushed his fingers deeper, grimacing at the humiliation of it, and silently vowing never to do this again.

He wrapped the towel around his waist without bothering to dry off, and grabbed his underwear off the floor. As he padded, dripping, back to their room, he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. At first he thought it might be Jo, and tensed involuntarily.

"Que tal, amigo?" Ash said, as if it weren't 0400.

"Hey man," he said, still scowling.

"That scotch you left? Top notch stuff. Woke me right up."

"Yeah, no problem. Sorry about the window... thing."

"Hey, no worries. Whatever you and Sam gotta do, I'm cool with it." Ash winked at him and made a clicking sound with his mouth, then ambled off in the direction of the pool table.

Dean leaned back a little, and watched Ash smooth his hand over the pool table as if it were a pillow, then flop down on it. He seemed unable to distinguish between the pool table and his bed. "O-kay," Dean shook his head in awe.

...

"Perfect," Dean said through gritted teeth, locking the door behind him. "Why can't people just  _say_ shit?!"

Sam scoffed. "Seriously, Dean?"

"Yeah!"

"This is coming from you."

"So? What's that supposed to mean?!" Dean dropped his towel and climbed over Sam to get back to his side of the bed.

"Never mind, Dean. Just don't worry about it."

Dean kicked the covers off the bed violently, flipped over so he was as far away from Sam as possible, and pulled the pillow over his head. Sam placed a soothing palm on his lower back.

"Don't touch me!"

"Shh, ssh, Dean, remember where we are."

"Yeah, I'm supposed to be here alone, in this... single bed," Dean groaned.

He could feel Sam looking at him. "Dean, I think Ash knows."

"Ya think?" Dean shot back.

"It's possible Ellen knows too," Sam stopped talking as Dean turned around to glare at him.

"Yeah? What makes you say that?"

Sam thought for a second. "It makes sense. She did give us a room with one bed before we even started-"

Without thinking, Dean had rolled on top of Sam and covered his mouth, pressing his palm gently against Sam's lips. Sam looked up at him questioningly. Dean felt an odd pressure in his chest and let go, but Sam kept giving him that look. Sam's face, the room, the moonlight, everything around them was taking on a dreamlike quality - his senses felt dulled, and he realized he'd hardly gotten any sleep. When Sam pulled him down into a kiss, he didn't even try to fight it. Then, aroused, he turned away from Sam's warm mouth.  _So much for taking care of it in the shower._  He lay down on his side, probably too close to his brother. Sam's boner was stabbing into the back of his thigh.

"Well, this'll be relaxing." He closed his eyes and told his body to chill out.

Sam radiated heat. He didn't move closer or pull away. After a minute, Dean wondered if he'd fallen asleep. Exhausted, he decided to take care of his own 'problem.'

"Sorry, I dozed off," Sam whispered.

"No, no, that's fine. You do that."

Sam got up, pushing Dean's shoulder so he was on his back, and settling his body between Dean's legs.

"Whoa, easy, Sam."

Sam paused, two inches from his face, searching for something in his expression. "You don't seem ready," he said finally.

Dean thought of the second explosion - how helpless he'd felt, gagged and tied to a chair while Gordon hunted his brother. "Whatever," he said mildly.

Sam set his jaw. Dean felt one of his thumbs rubbing little circles in the moisture on his inner thigh.

"Sam come on... please," he said, pulling on the back of Sam's neck. Sam's lips brushed his, uncertain, slowly giving in as Dean kissed him on the mouth. It felt dangerously natural. "Just do it, okay?"

"Dean," Sam moved down, kissing his damp chest. "You say that every time."

"So?" Dean's eyes fluttered closed as Sam kissed lower. " _Oh shit,_ " Sam's mouth was hot and wet against him. The heat spread through his groin, sending shivers down the insides of his legs, which brushed lightly against Sam's shoulders.

...


	18. Palm Beach

[ _Several days later..._ ]

...

Sam wanted to search for Ava, but didn't have the faintest idea of where to start. Unfortunately, Ash hadn't been able to dig anything up, so they didn't have much to go on. He scanned the Illinois newspapers anyway, looking for some sign.

Dean stomped in, clearly disgruntled. Sam smirked. "You look like you just hit puberty, Dean."

"Yeah, well, hunters are fucking insane! Jesse wanted me to blow him for information, Barnaby wouldn't fucking look at me, Gary and Lola said Steve said I go both ways so can I do 'marriage counseling?'" Dean shuddered visibly, "and Susanna ain't talkin' unless it's between my bedsheets! What the  _hell_  is going on?! Sam! They're... they're crazy people!"

"Wait. Slow down.  _What_?"

Dean collapsed onto the bed, staring off into space like he'd been mildly traumatized. Sam leaned forward and waited for him to continue. He didn't.

Sam got the gist of it - the hunter that had been ogling Dean for ages had gotten rejected, and others had seen or overheard the exchange and misinterpreted it. Most hunters were lonely and/or a little twisted, but they'd triple-check questionable information before going on a hunt. But, then, this wasn't a hunt. Sam knew it would blow over in a few days - most hunters had real problems to focus on. Then again, Dean was one of the best-known hunters since their father had died, and quite possibly the most skilled. They might be razzing Dean a bit, maybe testing him.  _Or even._.. Sam smiled a little (well, grimaced) at the thought that other hunters might be attracted to his brother.

He spoke firmly. "Dean, you've been wanting to leave for days. Why don't we just go?"

"Not until I've smoked that sonofabitch out!"

"Dean...  _Who_  are you talking about?"

"The bastard who ratted you out to Gordon!"

"Dean," Sam wasn't able to keep the pain out of his eyes. Dean was being a little paranoid, and they were wasting time. Besides, either they'd be hunted again, or they wouldn't. Dean's style was to deal with things as they came up. Sam was supposed to be the one stressing about the future. They'd get off balance if they became too synchronized.

He put a hand on Dean's shoulder. "Look, Dean, I know you're worried, but these hunters... they're obviously not coming after  _me_."

"Mm." Dean sat there silently for a few minutes.

"So... we leaving tomorrow?"

Dean looked him directly in the eye. "Sam, I'm okay. Promise."

Sam felt skepticism wrinkle his brow. "You sure?"

Dean dragged his hands over his face, pulling his lower eyelids down and sticking his tongue out. "I'm cute, right Sammy?"

Sam bit back an explosive laugh. "Nope," he lied, slapping a hand onto Dean's thigh. Dean glanced down at his hand. It was probably too high, but he let it ride.

...

Ellen hugged Dean goodbye, and he seemed to hold her tightly. Sam wondered what it was they'd talked about.

He wasn't prepared when Ellen pulled him into an awkward hug too. "I'll let you know if I find anything," she said in his ear. Sam patted her on the back, then she held him at arm's length.

"Thanks, Ellen," he said.

"Yeah, don't mention it," she winked. "You boys drive safe now."

Sam grinned at that common platitude, waving to Ash. Ash looked from Sam to Dean's retreating back, and shrugged, raising his glass towards them. Sam's nostrils flared as he tried not to chuckle at Ash's obvious meaning.

"Hasta luego, compadre."

"Bye, Ash."

...

Dean threw his bag in the trunk, pulled out an engraved silver pistol and holstered it inside his waistband. Sam was about to get in the car, but he caught the look on Dean's face, like he wanted to say something but wasn't sure how. Sam waited, listening.

Dean said quietly, "So, this Ava girl, she got any family, friends?"

"Well, her fiance's dead..."

"Yeah, besides him."

"Um, when I asked about her mom dying in a fire she mentioned that her mother lived in Palm Beach."

"Palm Beach, huh?" Dean leaned back against the trunk, eyes starry. "Sounds pretty sweet. Sunset avenue, 75 degrees, and the dancers..." he shook his head, then glanced at Sam guiltily, smile fading. Sam tried to put on his bitchface but it was a little weak - part of him wanted to let Dean have fun, but they had work to do. Dean didn't notice.

He cleared his throat. "So, uh, what's her last name?"

"Wilson."

"Perfect. Well that oughta be easy to find." Dean rolled his eyes.

"I'll have Ash do a search."

"Call him. Let's hit the road."

Sam nodded. Dean slammed the trunk.

...

Dean was still irritable. Sam couldn't blame him; they'd both had trouble sharing a bed, but Sam had been running every day, which helped. Dean, on the other hand, had gotten progressively sleep-deprived. Despite his exhaustion, he'd refused to leave until an unfortunate rumor started circulating among several other hunters...

As they hit St. Louis, Dean finally let Sam drive so he could stretch out in the back seat and sleep. Sam was immensely relieved - he worried about Dean's persistently irrational behavior, his erratic driving, the bluish hue of his eyelids...

Of course, now that Dean wasn't staring at the endless highway, he seemed pretty energetic. Sam had been driving for about ten minutes and Dean had already called him a grandma (Dean couldn't tolerate adhering to speed limits) and started yammering on, presumably about talking to Ava's mom, but focusing mainly on how they shouldn't be private investigators because... something about stupid hats (Sam figured Dean was once again using his keen intellect to contemplate television shows).

"Dean, I was thinking, about Ava's mom-"

"What's that?" Dean sat up, propping his chin against the back of the passenger's seat, dangling his arms into the front so his knuckles were brushing the leather. Dean smelled good. Sam didn't look at him - when Dean climbed into the back, he'd stripped down to a faded blue t-shirt, and Sam knew he'd be all muscular arms and soft eyelashes and pouty lips. But Dean needed to rest.

"Maybe we shouldn't tell her everything."

"What do you mean, we shouldn't tell her? 'Course we should tell her," Dean's voice was full of sleepy belligerence.

"I dunno, Dean," he said. He could feel Dean's eyes on him but he kept watching the road - they didn't need more awkward sexual tension at the moment. "Maybe she doesn't need to know yet."  _We'd just be scaring her,_ he thought.

"Her daughter got taken by a demon, Sam. That doesn't usually lead to puppies and hot cocoa."

"Dean, we don't even know what happened to Ava. She could be fine... I mean, who knows. We might end up saving her!"

Sam glanced over to check his reaction. Dean was staring at him, lips slightly parted, brow furrowed. Sam knew the shadow in his eyes _._ He bit his tongue to keep himself from arguing with that look - Dean's feelings were perfectly valid, they just had nothing to do with him. He swallowed the anger at his father, knowing that Dean would only trust him if he proved himself trustworthy. He hoped he was up to the challenge.

Dean looked away first. "You're right. We'll just talk to Ava's mom, see if she knows anything. Then go from there."

Before Dean could end the conversation, Sam changed the subject. "Dean, you weren't okay while we were at the Roadhouse, and I think I know why..." (Dean groaned.) "I mean, Ellen treats us like family, and right now she really misses Jo... and her whole concept of family is just so...  _different_. It's gotta be hard for you, I mean, you- you remember mom," he said quietly. Dean was looking down at his hands. "Dean, it's not easy for me either. In- in the context of family, we're-"

Dean interrupted, suddenly enthusiastic about a billboard. "Hey, hey, hey, pull off at this exit!"

Sam gazed at him sadly. His big brother had never been given a chance to deal with their mother's death. He'd been too busy becoming a warrior.

Dean grinned. "What? I'm hungry."

...

They sat down at some crappy 24-hour diner in Illinois. Sam tried to order something healthy.

_"_ Sam, I should have told you this before, but, uh, you were adopted."

_"What?!"_

"Yeah. From a family of rabbits."

Sam rolled his eyes, kicking Dean's foot underneath the table. "You're such a freaking jerk."

"Ow! Bitch," Dean shot back, trying not to smile.

Sam looked at Dean's food. Dean wouldn't even eat a vegetable unless it was deep-fried. He knew they weren't going to live forever, but Dean acted like there was no possible future to plan for. It bothered Sam.

...

After several cups of coffee, Dean decided he was okay to drive again.

"Dude, you only let me drive for like, half an hour."

Dean smirked mercilessly. "Eh, you got lucky."

...

Fatigue set in in rural Tennessee, and Dean pulled off the road. It was very dark, blue-dark, and the car was surrounded by tall, wheat-like grass.

Dean looked at Sam through heavy-lidded eyes. "Wanna drive for a while?"

He shook his head, smiling a little as Dean yawned hugely, like a lion. "Not really."

"Well Imma rest for a bit." He smiled back at Sam, warmly, briefly pressing his open hand against the side of Sam's neck, thumb brushing his cheek. It was an affectionate gesture - Sam had spent the past hour or so thinking about how hard everything was on Dean; how brave and selfless Dean was - he had to blink to hide his emotions.

"We're in the middle of nowhere, Dean... you okay with sleeping in the car?"

Dean shrugged, then yanked his boots off and climbed into the back. He was asleep almost instantly, mouth open, limbs flung in every direction.

Sam watched him for a moment. He sort of wanted to hold him, but he knew that wouldn't be appropriate. Dean was open to new ideas. In some ways, he was a lot more open than Sam was. But he couldn't just change his mind about things he considered important; or if he did, it would take a long time.

Sam pulled his trainers out of the trunk and changed into a pair of shorts, leaving his spare shirt in a wad under Dean's head. Dean stirred a little and smiled gratefully in his sleep. Then he nuzzled his face into Sam's shirt.

Sam ran as hard as he could, so his heartbeat pounded in his ears and sweat dripped from his hair.

...

He stopped running when the road got too dark. It was a country road, dotted with streetlamps.  _Power must be out,_ he thought. He turned around and looked back at the long, empty stretch of asphalt he'd come down. The air was cold and clammy and the sky was black - no moon, no stars. The wet fog pressed heavy against his skin and he shuddered a little. He didn't know how long he'd been running, but it felt like at least an hour, probably longer. His endurance had improved tremendously. But something tugged at the inside of his abdomen. It was time to head back.

...

Sam got back from running as Dean stumbled drowsily out of the car.

"Where the hell were you?" Dean slapped his chest, eyeing Sam's body. "And why are you all naked and sweaty?"

"Huh? Oh, running."

"You getting in shape for something?" Dean ran his fingers over Sam's abs.

"It helps me keep my mind off of... things." Sam wrinkled his nose, pulling Dean's hand off. His whole body was humming; it wasn't a good time. He thought of how quickly  _things_ might escalate. He was fairly certain Dean wasn't trying to flirt with him - Dean just sort of touched everything.

"Yeah?" Dean glanced from his wristwatch to the dusky morning sky, squinting at the horizon. "You were gone for like, three hours."

Sam frowned, watching Dean's face.  _Did I worry him?_ he wondered.

"Whatever," Dean said. "I'm sleeping in the front. If I wake up and you're gone again, I'm leaving without you."

"What, you won't kill me?" Sam teased.

"I'm not joking." Dean didn't smile.

Sam mentally slapped himself.  _You're supposed to be earning his trust, not destroying it,_ he thought.

...

Ava's mom was young, and, admittedly, rather hot.

"Ms. Wilson," Dean started in his deepest, most official voice.

"Please. Call me Lily," she beamed. She clearly thought Dean was handsome.

Dean smiled back at her. "Lily," he corrected.

Sam cleared his throat. "We're here about your daughter, Ava."

Several expressions crossed her face, but as she took in their formal attire and (fake) badges, she settled for mild concern. "Is she all right?"

...

Sam pushed the story that Ava had disappeared, and that him and his partner, 'Agent Jerry,' had been tasked with finding out what had happened. He assured her that they didn't know anything yet, good or bad, and that they'd come to see if she could give them any information about her daughter's status.

She seemed vaguely worried, but said that she didn't know anything at all and she hadn't heard from Ava in months.  _Great,_ Sam thought. They'd driven halfway across America to visit a clueless, quasi-estranged relative. Dean wisely asked if she had any other relatives, or if Ava's mom could tell them about her close friends, hobbies, etc. Ava's mom didn't know much, but she fetched a pink contact book from Ava's old room. Sam felt hopeful for a moment, but as he opened it and flipped through the hearts and bubble-lettering, he realized this contact book was probably from when Ava was in high school. _  
_

Sam was aware of Dean asking more questions, but a different strategy was already clicking into place in his brain. Sure, he'd look up these contacts, see if any of them were in or around Peoria. Hell, he'd 'cold-call' any that were near Illinois, but Ava's mom had said she grew up in Florida, so Sam didn't expect much. More importantly, he'd see about getting police involved, make an anonymous telephone call about the body in Ava's home (because if she  _did_  come back...) and put up 'missing person' flyers. He'd find out what company she worked for and talk to her boss and coworkers. She didn't have siblings, so her fiance had probably been her next-of-kin, but he'd find her friends and see if anyone knew anything regarding her whereabouts.

Sam tuned back in to hear Ava's mother say, "You boys are handsome. I wish my daughter had met someone like you, not that- that-"

He interjected, as gently as possible, "Her fiance? We were informed that he passed away recently."

She blinked. "You're joking, right?" She kept blinking, but tears were suddenly running down her cheeks. Her eyes looked huge as she said, "I was always so mean to him... God, he probably died thinking that I hate him."

Sam offered her a tissue and put a compassionate hand on her shoulder. She glanced at him gratefully, and he gave her a sympathetic look.

Dean rolled his eyes and stuck his chin out. Sam glared at him, silently warning him to wait at least two minutes before saying anything insensitive.

...

Sometimes aliases fell through, especially the ones that Dean invented on the fly. As Ms. Wilson blotted her face and thanked them for their concern, wishing them luck in their search, she asked for their names one more time.

"I'm Ellis Jerry and this is my partner, Tony Garcia," Dean said confidently, patting Sam on the arm. Sam set his facial muscles to hide a cringe - not only were their names ridiculous, he was 99% sure that Dean had transposed the first names of their aliases. Sam had to hand it to him - Dean's smile could win awards. Without it, she probably wouldn't consider buying all the far-fetched nonsense she'd been told in the past hour.

Ms. Wilson looked curious. "You came all the way from Peoria?"

"Well, see we're Federal agents, so we get an allowance to go where our cases take us," Dean explained. Sam reminded himself that Dean was sleep-deprived.

She didn't look convinced, so Dean continued. "We drive all over the country."

"Fly," Sam corrected under his breath.

"Yes, in airplanes," Dean helped.

Sam stared at him.

"We were just leaving," Dean added.

Sam flashed the confused Ms. Wilson a sheepish smile and they ducked out quickly. When they were out of sight, Dean whopped the back of Sam's head. "Why'd you have to butt in?"

"Yeah, like she was going to buy that!" Sam touched the back of his head gingerly.  _Damn, he hits hard._

"Well she sure as hell wouldn't with you changing the story!" Dean got into the driver's side and slammed the door. Sam climbed into the passenger's seat. "This is what I was talking about! You're screwing up the basics, man!"

"And what about you? Flying in  _airplanes_? Dean, how else are we supposed to fly?"

"I dunno, something feathery... Angels?"

Sam looked at him. Dean was trying not to smile, but then they both cracked up.

Dean wiped his eyes. "Angels, man, that would be a trip." He absently ran his fingers over his lips, and squinted through the windshield at the afternoon sun. A quiet moment passed, then, "What a bitch," he said halfheartedly.

"Maybe she was angry."

"Yeah?" Dean caught his eye.

He frowned. "Doesn't mean she wanted him dead." There was more to say, but he felt Dean's exhaustion. On the best of days, Dean had a limited tolerance for emotional exchanges. He'd been upset since the Gordon incident, but, for now, maybe he was alright. Sam wanted to preserve Dean's equilibrium as long as possible.

"Okay, tonight we're getting separate beds and we're gonna actually  _sleep_ ," Dean said gruffly.

Sam ducked his head to hide a grin.

...


	19. Surprise!

...

Illinois was closer than Nebraska, but the trip back took twice as long. There were several hang-ups along the way.

...

The stars were clear pinpricks in the vast blanket of indigo above them. Sam didn't know exactly what time it was, but it was late - the highway was completely deserted and the world was quiet, apart from the purring of the Impala's engine.

He sat up, massaging feeling into his forehead where it had been pressed against the cold window. Dean still looked sleepy, but in a more calm, less caffeinated way. He smiled at Sam, eyes crinkling kindly.

Sam felt peace settle into him, and his mind wandered, not for the first time, to a fantasy realm where he and his brother took some time off and lived a normal life together... anywhere, it didn't matter, but Sam imagined a farm or a ranch for some reason. Perhaps because they'd been driving through farm country, perhaps because it would be a natural transition for them.  _Ha,_ Sam thought,  _Hunting to farming. The pursuit of happiness and an idyllic lifestyle._ Sam knew ranching especially was hard, dangerous work, but it had an odd attractiveness to it. Not to mention, 'hard and dangerous' were matters of perspective.

Dean would never go for it. It wouldn't be exciting enough, plus Sam wasn't sure Dean would ever be able to put  _that_  part of him away. He smiled sadly at the thought of Dean approaching a cow with holy water and silver bullets and saying ' _All right, Bessie, let's see what kind of fugly creature you are, really. What? Don't moo at me! You think I'm buying this crap? Come on!'_ And the cow would gaze at him blankly as he splashed holy water in its face.

Dean's voice brought him back from his reverie. "Hey Sleeping Beauty, now that you're awake, mind if I listen to some music?"

Sam grinned. "What happened to 'Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his piehole?'"

"I was playing nice, Bigfoot. Anyway, I never said you could pick. I'm not into  _Spice Girls._ "

"Aren't you the one who used to keep a cutout of Scary Spice in your locker?"

Dean blinked. "That's 'cause she looked like the girl from chem class in Denton. Dude, those knockers..."

Sam patted his arm to get him to stop. "Um, hey Dean? Can we... pull over for a bit?"

Dean peered at him, then shrugged. "Yeah, okay."

They parked on a dirt road furrowed with dried tire tracks. Dean twisted around, cracking his back. "Dude, you have the tiniest bladder..."

Sam gave him a wry look, but got out and straightened his legs, feeling the heat of unhampered circulation flowing through his body. Dean wandered off to pee, and Sam stretched out with his back on the warm hood of the car and his feet on the ground in front of it, staring up at the night sky. He wondered if there were parallel universes out there, and if so, what those Deans and Sams were doing. Were they close? Were they hunters? Did they have prank wars and share a bed? Did they end up together?

The car's suspension creaked a little as Dean eased down next to Sam, laying on his left with his head propped up on one hand. Dean smirked down at him, good mood evident. Sam brushed his fingers up and under the flap of Dean's leather jacket where it hung open, resting his palm on Dean's side, feeling the soft spot between his ribcage and hip bone. Sam knew they had to get to Illinois, but he wanted them to just spend a little while together, like this. Dean leaned over him so the tips of their noses just barely touched, and kissed him on the mouth; easy, natural. Sam felt his groin grow heavy, but he kept his hands where they were, letting Dean call the shots. Dean had been hesitant about sexual things since the Gordon incident, and until Sam knew why, he wasn't going to push. He did, however, return the kiss, rising up on his elbow to get closer.

Dean groaned against his mouth and lifted Sam's shirt up, then reached cold fingers down and popped the button out of Sam's jeans. Sam couldn't believe Dean's sudden boldness, and rolled against him, dragging his good hand around to cup his ass and pull their bodies together.

Dean was suddenly tense. "Ssh! Stop," he whispered.

Sam frowned, mostly at himself: he'd planned to let Dean be in charge. But Dean's head was perked up like he was listening.

"Did you see that?"

No, Sam hadn't seen anything - he'd been focused on Dean.

Dean pushed him off and sat up noiselessly, squinting into the darkness.

"Dean?"

"Ssh!"

Dean took off like a shadow behind the fencing. Sam hesitated, then stumbled off the car, buttoning his pants. He grabbed a gun and a machete from the backseat and followed, trying to be just as silent as his brother. Dean paused when the path they'd been running on sank into a series of deep trenches, then vaulted over the fence into the winterized field. Straw was crisscrossed across the ground, which sunk under Sam's shoes. They made it to a small clump of fir trees and Dean vaulted the fence again, disappearing into what turned out to be a long, narrow copse.

Sam paused at the edge of a clearing. Dean was on the far side, moving stealthily between the trees, gun drawn. Eventually he worked his way back to Sam.

"Dean? What is it?" he whispered.

Dean gave him a wave, telling him to be quiet.

Then Sam saw it. It darted between the pines, small and grey, with menacing little buck-teeth and a fluffy tail.

"You're hunting bugs bunny?" he asked, not bothering to lower his voice.

Dean opened his mouth, closed it again, then murmured, "Shut up, Sam."

Sam regarded his tense body, half-lit and shaded in blues. Dean's lips were parted and his eyes were bright. Sam gazed at him, mind returning to the chill of Dean's skin, how warm his insides would be...

Dean yanked him close, roughly. "Listen to me," he growled, eyes locked on Sam's. "You can't be looking at me like that when we're hunting. All right? Don't get distracted! Sam," he bonked their heads together, voice wavering a little. "Sammy, you gotta be careful, man." Sam nodded. He remembered when Dean had been electrocuted. He knew the feeling.

There was an ugly cackling as something dropped behind Dean and dragged him backwards through the copse. Sam chased them to see Dean elbowing the thing in the gut. It threw Dean hard, and he landed on his face, gun flying out of his grasp.

Sam took aim, shooting it through the temple as it lunged towards Dean, and both the creature and Dean paused for a moment to give him an incredulous look. Sam shrugged. Regular bullets worked occasionally.

The thing stumbled back a bit, off his brother, and then looked murderously at them, cackling again, revealing rows of needle-like teeth.  _Crap_. Well, bullets sure didn't work on vampires.

Sam drew the machete as the creature pounced on Dean again, gnashing its teeth, trying to get at his neck. He couldn't risk hitting Dean, so he passed the blade down to his brother, grabbing the thing by the back of its flannel shirt. The creature turned to throw Sam off and Dean attacked swiftly from below, taking the vampire's head off with a few wet thwacks, splattering blood all over his face in the process.

"Hic vamps?! Come on!" Dean shouted, struggling out from under the decapitated body and kicking the thing in the arm. It flopped lifelessly. Then he muttered darkly, "Farmer Joe should stick to fried chicken."

Sam rolled his eyes.

Dean wiped his face, which only spread the blood around. He spat, making sure none of it got in his mouth. "Now we actually have to stop and get cleaned up. I'm sorry, Sam."

"Dean..." Sam shook his head. There was no stopping, no reverting to normal life. Sam had taken time off, and now he was back in; at this point, mostly for his brother. Dean had never gotten a break.

...


	20. Massage Therapy

[ _Later that evening..._ ]

...

They'd driven around for ages trying to find a motel - Dean was covered in blood, but he swore he knew the area. To be fair, he probably did at one point, but the motel he was after looked like it'd been closed up for years. Sam almost felt sorry for whomever Dean had wanted to visit.

They got back on the road and drove north for a bit, finding a cheap, open motel a few towns over. Dean was busy making sure he hadn't gotten blood on the car or something, so Sam went to check in, stretching as he walked. The air was cool, and the morning sky was just showing the faintest dusting of blue.

The desk clerk stubbed out her cigarette and rose slowly, eyes fixed on something out the window behind him. Sam didn't have to check to know she was looking at Dean. She raised her eyebrows at him, and Sam nodded at her.

"You want-"

"Uh, two beds, please," Sam handed her a credit card and rubbed the back of his neck. She stared at the name on the card, then up at Sam, who smiled nervously. He must have accidentally grabbed the card that said  _Angus Rasputin._ Her eyebrows went up further, but when the card ran successfully she shrugged and handed it back to him.

"Fifty-three," she said, fishing a key out from under the desk.

"Thanks."

"Checkout's at noon. That's in 7 hours."

"Uh, yeah. Okay."

She glanced out the window at Dean again. "Okay."

Sam left quickly. "We're moving the car," he said to Dean.

...

By the time they clumped through the door, Dean was in an argumentative mood, so Sam decided to push his buttons a bit.

"Dean, you should shower," he said softly as Dean checked their firearms.

"In a minute," Dean said without looking up.

"You know, Dean, I can do the safety check too," he said, resting his hand on Dean's forearm.

"I got it," Dean said distractedly.

"Dean-"

"Stop Deaning me!"

Sam shook his head, keeping his voice even. "That doesn't make any sense, Dean."

Frustrated, Dean dropped the magazine and the empty pistol on the bed in front of him and spun around to face Sam. "See, that!" He pointed accusingly at Sam's mouth. "That's  _exactly_  what I'm talking about! You say my name more than any other word in the English language! No wonder everyone thinks we're gay! _"_

"Is there... something else you want me to call you?"

Dean sighed, shaking his head. "I don't really care."

Sam smiled pleasantly. "How about princess?"

Dean looked horrified. "Seriously?" Eyes glinting dangerously, he grabbed Sam's collar, pulling him close. Their noses were almost touching. "How about I kick your ass?"

Sam tried to sound as innocent as possible. "Dean... Just try to calm down."

Dean frowned up at him through his eyelashes. "Bite me."

Sam stared.  _Odd thing to say when we j_ _ust iced a vampire,_ he thought.  _Also, how can he look sexy when he has blood on his face?_

"Not... literally." Dean looked uncomfortable, and left the room quickly.

...

Sam leaned up against the counter while Dean splashed around in the shower. He wanted to do something nice for Dean, but he couldn't think of what to do. Then the idea hit him.

He stripped down to his boxers and said, "Dean, I'm coming in, okay?"

"What? No way! I'm naked, Sam!" Dean half-turned, covering his butt with his hands and squinting as the spray bounced off his face.

"Look, I'm in my underwear, all right?"

Dean stared at him for a second. "Yeah? What are you gonna do with sopping wet underwear? We're hitting the road again in like, six hours. Pain in the ass."

"Fine," Sam shrugged, and dropped his underwear too, stepping out of them. Dean watched Sam's movements warily as he pulled the shower curtain shut behind himself. "Relax," he commanded, steadying Dean's shoulder with his cast and smoothing his good hand over the trapezius muscle.

Dean cringed at first ("Sam, what the-") then he stopped tensing, and let his arms dangle at his sides. Sam worked the knots out of Dean's shoulders, pressing gently, then rubbing deeper. Dean didn't react in any obvious way, but he turned his head ever so slightly, angling his body towards Sam more. Sam moved his hands slowly down Dean's back, easing the tension out of the muscle groups on either side of Dean's spine with the flat sides of his thumbs. He was patient, unhurried. The bathroom lights cast their damp bodies in warm hues - yellow, brown, gold.

"Hey, Sam?"

"Mm?"

"Where'd you learn to do this?" Dean mumbled.

Sam quirked his eyebrows. "Just one of the perks of being in a relationship for more than one night, Dean."

Dean made a vague grumbling noise, then relaxed back against Sam's chest as Sam started massaging one of his arms. Sam paused to move his erection so it rested against Dean's lower back instead of bumping against the backs of his wet thighs.

"Sam-"

"Ssh, Dean, it's okay. Relax."

Soon enough Dean was resting his head back against Sam's shoulder, eyes closed, mouth open. "Holy crap, that feels good..." he breathed as Sam moved his hands between them to work on his lower back.

Sam bent to kiss the top of his shoulder lightly, eyes blurring from the shower water. "Glad you like it."

Dean sighed, reaching back and pulling Sam's hands from between them, then turning so their fronts were together and replacing Sam's hands against his lower back. Sam lifted his chin over Dean's fuzzy head and clenched his jaw, trying not to get too excited as Dean leaned into his chest. He started massaging Dean's lower back again. Dean was right, it was a better angle, but he fought to contain himself, trying to push the darkness out of his mind as Dean's hard-on pressed against his.

Dean murmured something unintelligible against his skin, kissing his neck lightly. Sam's heart rate accelerated. "Um... Are you trying to say you like this better than magic fingers?"

Dean chuckled. "Nothing's better than magic fingers."

Sam smirked. "Right."

"Mm not lyin'." Dean groaned against Sam's chest as Sam's hands moved lower, sliding their bodies together. When Sam kissed him Dean kissed back, tangling his fingers through Sam's hair.

"Damn, Dean... I thought you were holding out on me." Sam couldn't help but feel a little smug.

"Shut up, Sam."

...

Sam answered the phone quietly. Dean was sleeping beside him, for once.

"Ellen, hey," he whispered, fumbling with the phone in his right hand as he dragged his sweatpants on and stepped outside.

Ellen's voice was low. Even over the phone, Sam could tell she was worried. "Sam, you're gonna wanna hear this," she said.

"I'm listening."

"I think I found out why Gordon wanted you dead."

And she told him what she'd heard about the "boy-king."

...

A human, hand-picked during childhood, was supposed to start a war. This human, a "prodigy," supposedly had the "gift of foresight." What kind of war? As rumor had it, massive, "ancient," and bloody. The details were fuzzy, or, rather, absent. She was careful to mention that her source was questionable, and she doubted parts of this "prophecy." But it'd apparently been enough to make Gordon want to kill him.

Sam had no way of knowing whether or not this war had to do with the nursery fires or the kids-now-adults with supernatural powers. Still, there could be a connection - he'd look into it while they were searching for Ava. They already knew the Yellow Eyed Demon had to be stopped.  _But maybe Dad was right_ , Sam thought. Maybe Dean was the only one who could stop  _Sam_ \- it was important for him to convince Dean of this as well, and to keep an eye out for him, in case he turned into  _something else._

Sam wandered back to the room as she talked, opening the door gently and feeling the heat pouring out. He leaned back against the motel door frame, one foot in the room, one foot outside. He watched Dean sleeping and listened to Ellen's voice.

It just wasn't that surprising. He'd already decided to protect Dean at all costs, though he wasn't sure he could be trusted to do so. For now, until he knew more, he supposed he should maintain a safer distance.

That night, Sam's dreams were plagued by yellow eyes.

...


	21. Nightmares

[ _The next morning..._ ]

...

_Something is coming. You won't recognize it for what it is, and it'll creep up behind you and rip your world apart._

Sam sat up with a start, rubbing his eyes. He couldn't remember what he'd been dreaming about, but whatever it was, it had left his whole body tense. He flopped back onto the pillow and let his breathing slow.

Gradually he became aware of a warm, snoozing presence beside him.  _Dean's here,_ he thought happily, instinctively putting his arms around his brother and pressing his nose into the downy fuzz on the back of his head.

Dean reached back and brushed his fingers against Sam's cheek. "Gerroff," he mumbled grumpily.

Sam ran his hands down Dean's smooth skin, squeezing his arm affectionately before getting up. He sat at the edge of the bed, face in hands, trying to wake up.

"Mmf," Dean complained, pulling the covers over his head.

_Tell me to leave but then you're cold,_ Sam thought, giving the bundle of blankets a playful shove. It wiggled away from him.

Sam chuckled at his brother's antics, but whatever he'd dreamt about was still bugging him. He noted the absence of any sort of headache -  _So no visions and no hangovers._   _What the hell happened last night?_ He couldn't believe he'd had a nightmare with Dean literally sleeping right next to him.

_Oh, right. Giant war coming. Psychic children. You might be evil,_  he reminded himself.  _And Dean might have to kill you, which he isn't ready to do._ The morning sun cut through the gap in the heavy motel curtains, blinding him. He winced. It had all seemed so simple last night - just convince Dean that this was what was best for everybody.  _Right, he'll totally believe you_ , Sam's brain shot back.  _You're going to have to do this carefully._

Sam pulled his sweatpants on and wandered over to the window. It occurred to him that destiny was probably unalterable.  _But Dean sees it as something that can and must be changed,_ he thought. He opened the curtain, letting bright sunlight spill into the room, and sent a silent prayer up to God that Dean would be okay, come out of everything okay. He also prayed that he'd be strong enough to put some distance between them, for as long as was needed, so that Dean would be safe. Then he begged God not to let him turn evil. _  
_

...

As the days got shorter, they continued their search for Ava.

They mostly worked in silence. Dean didn't say anything about how Sam randomly stopped trying to take him to bed, didn't even ask why.  _Probably figures he already knows_ , Sam thought bitterly. Not that Dean would let him explain. Not that he could.

Sam frowned as he watched Dean combing through the obituaries. He supposed he was lucky - he'd gotten to spend part of the past four months with the person he loved. And he still got to spend time in that person's presence, just not in an... intimate capacity.  _Though maybe I shouldn't,_ he thought. He could still be putting Dean in danger, even though their relationship had cooled considerably.

Dean looked up from the computer, smiling at Sam uncertainly. For an awkward moment, Sam couldn't look away.

"Sammy, what's up?" Dean's voice was composed in a way that sort of stung.

Sam made his face blank. "Nothing, Dean, I-" He sighed. "It's nothing."

"Really? 'Cause you look like you're on your period," he said casually.

Sam gave him a tight smile. He had to get out of there. "I'm gonna get some coffee."

"You do that."

"Jerk," Sam said automatically, getting up.

"Bitch," Dean replied. And for a second, his expression was completely open, and his eyes were full of such warmth, love, and hurt, that Sam stooped to hug him.

Dean hugged him back for a moment, then murmured, "All right, enough, Sasquatch, get off me."

Sam let go. When Dean glanced up at him again that look was gone, replaced by the usual steady indifference. Sam kept gazing at him, trying to read him, when Dean cracked a provocative smile.

"And here I thought you were gonna get me coffee, Sam," he said, grinning up at him.

"Right. I was just-"

"Enchanted by my superhuman good looks?"

Sam did his best not to smile. "Shut up," he said, nudging Dean's cheek with his knuckles.

"Don't touch me," Dean said, smirking.

As Sam grabbed his jacket to head out, Dean called after him. "Hey bring me some pie!" Sam rolled his eyes.

...


	22. A Christmas Story

[ _A week later..._ ]

Dean was printing out "Missing Person" fliers. He had seemed conflicted about taking this case at first, for whatever reason, but now he was charging ahead, working as hard as ever. Sam felt kind of bad -  _he_  was the one who kept getting distracted.

They pulled their coats closed against the freezing air and set about tacking fliers all over Peoria.

...

Sam leaned back against the Impala. It was a clear December night, very cold, and nobody was out. There wasn't anything more they could do for Ava tonight, and the suburbs were beautiful, muted by a light dusting of snow.

Dean came and stood by him. "What's up, Sammy?" he said, bumping their shoulders together.

Sam looked over at his brother. Dean was smiling warmly, cheeks flushed from the wintry air, eyes bright. He couldn't help himself - he loved Dean, so he smiled back at him. "Nothing."

"Yeah?" Dean said softly, moving closer. He laid his chilly fingers against Sam's temple. "You're trying to tell me," he said slowly, "That there's  _nothing_ going on in that giant brain of yours?"

Sam grinned and looked at his shoes. "Yeah," he said.

Their noses were several inches apart. Dean's lips looked cherry-red in the light from the streetlamp. God help him, Sam wanted to kiss him. He took a deep breath.

"Jesus Sam," Dean whispered, and pressed his silky mouth against Sam's.

Sam's heart skipped a beat, and before he knew it, he'd grabbed Dean and pulled him against his chest. He could feel heat pulsing between them.

Alarm bells went off in Sam's head -  _Whatever shit you're in, you're gonna drag him down with you. You've got to keep your distance. He has to be able to take you out if he needs to._ It was enough. Sam pushed Dean away roughly.

"Dean-" he started, wanting to apologize. He was scared; he hadn't meant to be that forceful. Dean was giving him a vague, lost look and Sam wanted to fix it. He wanted to tell Dean that it had nothing to do with him, that something bigger was happening, that he had a hard-on from brushing lips for five freaking seconds. But Dean looked away and started speaking before Sam could get the words out.

"No Sam, that's-" Dean rubbed a hand over his mouth. "You're right, I shouldn't do crap like that."

Guilt twisted, cold and slimy, in Sam's gut. He couldn't stand the thought of Dean getting hurt - hurt worse than this - because of his carelessness. So he said nothing.

...

They drove back in silence, but it wasn't an angry silence. Dean didn't even seem upset. It made Sam want to prove to him how important their relationship was.

He shut his eyes tightly.  _God help me be stronger,_ he prayed.

* * *

[ _Several days later..._ ]

...

For once, Dean woke up before Sam. He gazed bleary-eyed at an alarm clock that read 0630.

The motel had vivid red towels. As Dean draped one over his shoulder, getting ready to shave, he had an idea. He wrapped the red towel around himself like a cape, then smeared shaving cream all over his jaw and neck and stuffed a pillow under his shirt. Sam was still asleep. He pounced.

"Ah, shit, what the fuck?" Sam yelled as he fell out of the bed.

"I'm Santa, bitch," Dean said smugly.

Sam got up and stared at him. "You're like, a kid's worst nightmare," he said, shoving Dean down on his back.

"Ugh," Dean grunted. "Who pissed in your coffee?"

Sam ignored him. "If you get shaving cream on my sheets I'm taking your bed tonight," he warned.

"You're no fun," Dean grumbled as he wandered off to shave.

...

As Dean rinsed his face off, he heard televised Christmas carols through the wall. He wondered if it was actually Christmas. He counted on his fingers - yes it was.  _Good,_ he thought. He hadn't really spent Christmas with his brother since... well, he couldn't exactly remember. Not that they'd do anything special, probably work most of the day, but still. The chances of actually hunting were slim, so they'd be spending time together.

He found Sam yawning, pulling his jeans on, and rushing past him to brush his teeth.

"You're in a hurry," he noted as Sam zipped his jacket.

Sam nodded.

Dean rolled his eyes. "So where you headed?"

"Soup kitchen. I'm taking the day off."

"You're volunteering on Christmas? What are you, friggin... Ghandi? Or something?"

"Hey, Ghandi's not too bad. Leave him alone."

Sam turned and Dean made a squirrel face at his back. Sam whirled around as if sensing it, but found Dean scratching his head and pouting at the carpet. "All right, well, have fun," Dean called after him, but too late - Sam had already walked out the door.

He had the oddest feeling in his body, and he wasn't really sure what it was, but he figured he'd be bored staying in a motel watching TV by himself, so he opened Sam's laptop and googled BARS OPEN ON XMAS

* * *

[ _That evening..._ ]

...

It didn't take Sam long to find his brother. He just searched for a place where barflies with no self-esteem, life, or family would spend Christmas evening. He'd actually wanted to spend some time with Dean, not to celebrate or anything, necessarily, but just because they didn't really have much more they could do for Ava, and no new cases had presented themselves. Sam figured since they'd spent over three weeks looking for her, it might be time to move on. Not close the book or anything, just try to help people they could actually  _locate_.

The light was dim, and most of the surfaces in the bar were fashioned from this dark red pleather stuff. Sam eyed the place warily. Dean was in a far corner, shooting pool with some guys.

Sam's instincts told him not to bother Dean right away, let him finish his game, so he sat at the bar and ordered a beer. Dean didn't glance over.

It only took a few minutes for Sam to wonder why he'd come at all - he just wanted to leave. Dean looked like he was having a good time, playing pool for cash. That was great and all, but he could swear one of the other guys was checking out Dean's ass ever time he leaned over to take a shot. Sam sighed. Maybe he was imagining it. He realized darkly that he wanted to go over there and knock the guy out, so he took a deep breath, asking for the strength to let it go.

Sam was glancing at his brother over his shoulder when a pretty blonde girl who didn't look old enough to drink sauntered into his line of vision. He smiled politely, wondering what she was doing in a place like this. He hoped she wasn't working.

"Hey, what's your name?" she asked lightly.

"I'm Sam," he said, and stuck his hand out. Dean would hate it that he was using his real name with a stranger, always did, but he wasn't paying attention right now.

"Leslie."

Sam was half-listening as she told him about how much it sucked to work the night shift on Christmas. He swiveled the barstool around so he was sort of facing her, and he could tell when Dean's game finished. He nodded politely and frowned in sympathy, but, with a twinge of guilt, he realized his heart really wasn't in talking to her. He was kind of put off by the fact that she couldn't read his body language better - she kept flirting with him even though he clearly wasn't interested.

"So, have you ever had sex with someone you love?"

His brain snapped back into focus. "What?" he managed, almost choking.

Her eyes were dreamy. "It's  _sooo_  different with someone you love. Even if they have no clue what they're doing," she smiled at him. "So have you?"

Sam rubbed his temple, not sure if he should answer this question. "Uh... yeah," he ended up saying. She raised her eyebrows, waiting for him to continue. He added with a sigh, "Three times." He really wasn't going into any more detail than that.

"You mean like, three people, right?"

Sam didn't know what he meant. Of course, he'd loved Jessica, and he loved Dean, but he didn't know who the third person would be. "Right. Yep."

She looked at him keenly. "You're not a big talker, are you?"

Sam thought back to the previous night, when his conversation with Dean had gone something like this -

_"I'm dangerous, Dean."_

_"Yeah? Well what am I, then?!"_

_Sam had rolled his eyes in frustration at that. Every time he tried to talk about it, Dean got off topic. "Annoying?"_

_That had pissed Dean off. "Look Sam, would you shut up about it? Huh? God, you could go on for-freaking-ever"_...

"Guess not," he said.

"Yeah," she agreed, "Guess not." And with that, she got up and walked away.

Sam felt bad that she'd left so abruptly, but didn't make any effort to call her back. In the moments he'd been distracted, Dean had started playing pool against a different guy - the one who was checking out his ass. As the triangle of balls broke, they scattered everywhere across the table.

Sam sighed, paid his tab, and left.

...

Sam had worked pretty hard that day - he was tired, but stayed up for hours anyway, drinking Dean's whiskey and waiting by the window. He fell asleep in the chair, so he wasn't sure what time Dean got home.

...


	23. S2E11

[Set after Season 2, Ep. 11 - "Playthings"]

...

Dean had been wary of Sam initially, but now he was putting on this great show of not caring. To make matters worse, every woman they encountered seemed to be flirting with Dean. It was pissing Sam off, but he couldn't exactly argue.

Sam knew he should leave, but he couldn't bring himself to do that, either. He figured Dean wouldn't take _that_ nearly as well. So he was double-locking the door every night, laying down salt lines more avidly than Dean did, putting devil's traps under every rug, and keeping his face as expressionless as possible when it came to their more personal encounters, which had noticeably decreased in frequency.

Still, Dean probably wasn't in much more danger with Sam by his side than he would be if Sam left, so Sam stayed, and built a careful wall between them, carefully turning away every time he had the urge to kiss or hold the person he loved.

_For now,_ he reminded himself, _let's just stick to business._

Dean gave him a troubled look, and they drove west in silence.

...

He had to know what they were dealing with at least, so he opened the search engine and typed: "boy king of hell." Ten hits, seven of which were connected to a site called "allleathervamps." Sam clicked on it, and immediately wished he hadn't. He rubbed his temple.

The other three results were similarly useless. He tried varying combinations of "hell," "prodigy," "boy king," "ancient war," "prophecy," "hell king." He learned some interesting theology trivia, but nothing that seemed to relate to him in any way, unless he was taking a trip to the 13th century.

After half an hour of fruitless searching he went back to the "allleathervamps" tab to see in what context "boy king of hell" was mentioned. Trying to ignore the drooling bats adorning the header, he typed CTRL+F and read: "the boy king of hell will bring hell on earth and hasten the coming apocalypse."

"Wow," he breathed.

The door opened and Dean walked in, prompting him to shut the laptop quickly.

"So... did you find a job?"

"Not exactly," Sam muttered.

"What do you mean, 'not exactly?'" Dean squinted at him, then regarded the laptop with suspicion. "Okay, lemme see."

Mute, Sam slid the laptop across the table to his brother. Dean read silently for a minute.

"Come on, Sam. Does that look like a credible site to you?"

"No, but..."

"But what? Look Sam it's- it's talking about the resurrection of _Zombie Jesus_." Dean clicked something and a red light flashed across his face, announcing with a growl that he had a year and a half to live. His eyes widened. " _Seriously_? How did you even _find_ this shit?"

"I dunno, Dean. You don't think it's worth looking into?"

"Hell no. Sam are you feeling all right?"

"No, yeah. I'm fine."

It was probably nothing. All he had to go on was Gordon Walker's hunch, after all, and Sam wasn't sure he believed it. There was no other lore on the internet about a "boy king," though he had yet to pore over the volumes in Bobby's library. Sam made a mental note to call Bobby later.

...

"Sam?"

Sam smelled leather, and Dean was right there, kissing him on the mouth.

He stepped back, taking a deep breath, trying to calm down. "Dean, I don't want this," he said quietly, hoping to avoid the situation before his body could prove him a liar. He kept his eyes trained carefully on the ceiling as Dean stepped closer, not wanting to see the look on his face.

Dean pressed into him, kissing him softly. "Sorry," he whispered.

Sam's jaw tightened as he turned his face away. Dean's soft lips planted insistent kisses on his neck.

"Dean, stop."

"No," Dean murmured, running his hands up Sam's back under his shirt. Sam's jaw tightened and he inhaled slowly through his nose.

"Please Sam?"

Sam grabbed Dean's ass and lifted him off his feet. Dean wrapped his arms and legs around Sam and Sam kissed him hard, walking across the room, dropping Dean on the bed. Sharing rooms was becoming a fucking problem. He dragged Dean's pants off and -

"Sammy?"

Sam opened his eyes and sat up. Momentarily unaware that he'd been dreaming, he grasped Dean's shoulders and pulled him down onto the bed with him. Dean landed on his back at the foot of the bed as Sam knelt over him, one knee between Dean's legs. The motel bed squeaked.

Dean gazed up at him, lips parted, eyes bright. He looked completely vulnerable.

"Jesus," Sam breathed, getting up off the bed. He felt the heat rushing to his groin and turned away from his brother, ashamed of himself.

"Sam?"

Sam didn't answer. He felt like he was steadily going insane.

"The fuck was that for?" Dean approached his back, grabbing his shoulder, turning Sam around to face him.

Sam threw his arm off and shoved Dean backwards. "Just stay away from me."

"Like hell I will! I'm not leaving until you tell me what's going on with you lately."

Sam paused to appreciate that in that moment, he was actually angry at his brother... for not knowing. "None of your fucking business," he said darkly.

Dean watched him for a moment with distrust. Then he punched him in the face. Sam heard a thick sound through his head as Dean's fist connected right in front of his ear and and pain spread across his cheek. The force of it caused him to stumble backwards. He righted himself, catching his balance against the motel table. He was lucky - he knew from experience that Dean could hit a lot harder than that.

Dean approached him and they circled each other silently. Sam didn't know if Dean was going to punch him again. Instead, Dean lunged at him, holding his biceps. They grappled for a moment, then Dean sidestepped and threw his shoulder into Sam's chest, sending him to the floor. Dean straddled him and held him down.

Sam rolled his eyes in frustration, panting as much from arousal as from the exertion of the fight. "Dammit, Dean," Sam swore under his breath, "You think I'm strong?"

Dean pursed his lips and inclined his head, regarding his brother sarcastically.

"I'm not, Dean."

"The hell are you talking about? You're as strong as I am - hell you're prob'ly stronger."

Sam talked fast. "You're still more skilled at hand-to-hand combat, but that's not the point, Dean. I wasn't talking physically."

"Then what, huh? You think I'm more- more stoic than you, or something?"

Sam didn't want to go down this road, but Dean was making his decision to put some distance between them very difficult to execute. "I'm talking about our relationship, Dean."

"Psh, what, brothers?" Dean rolled his eyes, smirking, then got off Sam and helped him to his feet. He sighed. "You're not going to start into some philosophical shit about siblings in haunted New England inns, are you? 'Cuz, news flash, neither of us are ghosts!"

"Dean, seriously, stop playing dumb." Sam shot him a grave look. Dean's smile faded. Sam asked quietly, "How long have you known that I like you?"

Dean's eyes swept back and forth over the floor, like he was searching for something. Finally he spoke. "Since that time in New York when you wouldn't hook up with Sarah. I uh. I asked you if it was because of Jess and you said that was part of it, but not the main part. I mean I wanted to test the theory, so I took off my clothes that first time we stayed at Ellen's, and dude, you couldn't control yourself."

Sam lowered his eyes.

"Here's what I don't get," Dean continued. "You're smart, attractive, good company, and I mean, you're hung, dude..."

Sam narrowed his eyes a little, watching him.

"...I mean, it's not like you can't get laid. Sure, you're a massive dork, but chicks dig that, So I was just wondering, you know..."

Sam raised his eyebrows, telling him to go ahead.

"Why, uh..." Dean cleared his throat and broke eye contact. "Why me?"

Sam scoffed, smiling coldly. "You seriously don't know."

Dean's eyes got huge. For a fraction of a second, he actually looked scared. Then he glared at Sam. "No, you know what? I don't wanna know. You wanna get laid, go somewhere else, cause I'm your brother and that's just... disturbing."

Sam opened his mouth to argue, but then he saw Dean's tormented expression and the words died in his throat. His ego wanted to justify their relationship, but the closer they were to one another, the more Dean's safety and judgment would be compromised if there came a time when he had to dispose of some evil Sam might be carrying inside himself. Sam barely trusted himself around Dean as it was... _better to close that door_ , he thought, _at least for now_. "Yeah," he said quietly. "Okay."

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

Dean rubbed a hand over his face. "Nothing. It's just, you know, _awkward._ " He gave Sam a fake grin.

Sam reminded himself that he'd made the right choice.

"All right, I'm heading out. You wanna come?"

"No thanks."

"Okay."

As the car rumbled to life outside, Sam realized Dean had probably woken him up for a reason. The clock read 2330 - he hadn't been asleep for more than an hour. He pulled his phone out of the pocket of his jeans and dialed Dean's number, then pressed END. He figured if it was important, Dean would tell him later.

...

Sam returned from a run and flopped down on a horrible yellow-and-brown motel comforter that smelled like menthols. His chest hurt. Dean had only been gone for two hours and he missed him for some reason. Perhaps it was that he'd been resolved to end their relationship for weeks, but now it felt... irreversible. Final.

He stared at the ceiling for a long time, not really thinking about anything, before getting up again.

He flicked off the main light, wandering over to the window and gazing out at the parking lot. He blinked, realizing he could see the Impala. Dean was leaning back against the passenger's door with some girl kissing him all over his face. When she stood back, as if admiring him, Dean smiled at her. Sam closed the curtains. _That's how it's gonna be_ , he reminded himself.

He ran his hands through his hair, thinking about Dean and that girl. Dean was being considerate - they'd probably fuck in the car. They didn't have to do that. Sam hadn't run nearly long enough to exhaust himself.

He pulled his shoes on and grabbed the room key.

"Dean, heads up," he tossed his brother the key. Dean caught it in one hand and regarded it blankly, then blinked a few times and looked down.

"Thanks, man," he said, avoiding Sam's eyes. The girl was looking between them, from one to the other. Sam didn't want to make her uncomfortable, so he took off. _I_ _t's not healthy for either of us,_ he reminded himself. But of course, he knew that didn't matter.

Sam slowed when he reached the far end of the parking lot, turning to glance back at them. The young woman was kissing Dean's neck and he was holding her loosely, but he was looking directly at Sam. Even from the distance, under the crappy lighting of the neon motel sign, Sam could tell that Dean's brow was furrowed and his eyes were full of pain. He paused. He wanted to return and insist on giving that kid a ride home, then tell Dean to stop being foolish and kiss him until his eyes didn't look like that anymore. He shook his head a little, not sure why Dean always did that. _But_ , he reminded himself, _that's Dean's decision, and I have to respect it_. He gave Dean a small smile, then took off at a run in the opposite direction.

...


	24. -S2E14-

[Set  ** _before_** Season 2, Ep. 14 - "Born Under a Bad Sign"]

...

The demon stretched out in her new body, delighting in the power, the height, the reach... all wasted on Sam Winchester, of course, bless his gentle soul. She could feel him fighting desperately in his cage, but since he'd been asleep (a clever trick she'd discovered all on her own), his brain would chalk the experience of being possessed up to a bad dream. Brains were tricky that way.

She conjured herself a nice swivel chair and thumbed through Sam's memories, twirling happily. She was giddy - finally out of the pit and what freedom she had found! And the first thing she'd do with it would be to get revenge on Dean Winchester for sending her back to that place. She shuddered. Alistair could be so  _random._

She shook her head, and focused on the task at hand.  _My, my,_ she thought,  _These boys have a history. This ought to be fun._ She smiled to herself.

When she had found the patterns she thought might be key to Dean's undoing, she shoved the memories back in their oddly-shaped file cabinets, flung the swivel chair away from herself, and hid in a closet, whispering "Wake up Sam!" as she snapped the door shut.

Sam sat upright, and bless his tortured soul, he looked straight over at Dean. She could see him, through Sam's eyes, sleeping on top of the covers, arms folded across his chest, gun and clip accessible.

And it only took Sam a few seconds of looking in Dean's direction before he woke up and rubbed his face, muttering "Sam? You all right?" and shooting his little brother a deeply worried glance through sleep-clouded eyes.

She thought she might hurl. "No, I'm not. I need you here," she whispered, trying not to gag.

"I'm not... Dean, I need you to come here," Sam echoed obediently.

She rolled her eyes.  _Close enough._

Dean more or less fell out of bed and hobbled over. "What's up, Sam?"

She clenched her fists. Brainstorming wasn't easy in a new body, after all. Remembering a particularly juicy tidbit about their past, she blurted, "Sleep with me."

"Would you sleep with me?" Sam repeated.

Dean looked into her eyes for one second, then scoffed. "Hell no."

Sam twisted around confusedly, as if looking for someone else who might have said something. "I'm sorry, I don't know why I just said that," he said morosely. Poor boy thought he was going mad, turning  _evil_... she watched with fascination.

"Yeah, well I do. You're dreaming about that yellow-eyed bastard again, aren't you?"

"I was dreaming of you, actually," she whispered.

"I uh, I think I was dreaming of you," Sam repeated.

Dean gave him a bland look, clearly not impressed. "Of course you were. And I was dreaming of flying monkeys. Just- go back to sleep, Sam."

"No, stay," she commanded, trying to stay in character.

"No, wait, Dean..." Sam reached his hand out, begging Dean to stay. She couldn't have done it better herself. She was secretly glad she was using hypnosis instead of full-on possession - Sam was a fine actor.

Dean came back, all eye contact, looking for some telling sign on Sam's face. But as Sam's hypnosis deepened, his expression grew blank.

Sam got to his feet and stood before his brother. They stared into each other's eyes,  _blah, blah_ , they stood inches apart... Meg gave one of Sam's spinal nerves a kick and he fell forward, pressing their lips together. Meg tapped her fingers on the inside of Sam's skull. "Getting old here," she hinted.

"Getting old here," Sam repeated. Meg smacked herself on the forehead. Sam was such a dolt. But Dean was going with that too - he'd taken Sam's face in his sleep-warm hands and was gazing up at him with some disturbing medley of human emotions. She eyed him with amazement -  _How desperate can you get?_

"Sammy?"

"Hurt him," she whispered.

"What?" Sam said, out loud, glancing over his shoulder.

" _Hurt him_ ," she hissed.

Sam shook his head,  _no._ Dean backed away, confused.

So she repeated herself, over and over again. She could feel Sam frantically trying to diagnose whatever was going on in his mind.  _Oh, do I need to spell it out for you?_ She poked her head out of the closet, made sure he wasn't looking, and shouted at the top of her lungs, "HURT HIM!"

Sam reeled, clutching his head. "Dean, I have to go..." he said almost incoherently, before rushing out the door. She grinned. _That'll do just fine,_ she thought, and dusted off her jacket, ready to climb out of the closet. Sam was alone in the hallway, and Dean wouldn't come looking for him right away.

She made Sam sleep.

...

"Dean..." she heaved a sigh using Sam's huge lungs. "Dude, this is _super_ awkward. Can we just, like, forget that stuff ever happened between us? I mean, it shouldn't have happened in the first place, right? And I know it didn't mean anything to you... hell, it didn't even mean anything to me!" She almost slipped up and covered her mouth... her words sounded slightly out of character. But one look into Dean's eyes proved it didn't matter, her words had hit home.

He gaped for a second, then composed his face carefully. "No, of course it didn't," he said gruffly.

"But... then again, the time we spend together doesn't mean much if we can't have fun, right?" She smiled sweetly.

"Whatever," Dean growled, breaking eye contact.

She waited for the right moment to go in for the kill. After Dean turned out the lights, she slid under the covers next to him, kissing the back of his neck. He twisted around, trying to shove her off, but she'd already tested Sam's strength. She knew it would hold. And Dean didn't seem to be trying too hard, anyway. It was disappointingly easy getting him on his back. As she leaned menacingly over her prey, Sam woke up. _Crap._ Still not wanting to be found just yet, she slipped behind a bookcase and watched as Sam tried to orient himself. His face was a battle: arousal vs. horror, etc. It was exhausting... not remotely kinky. _He's such a spaz,_ she thought, rolling her eyes again.

Dean was staring up at Sam. The uncertainty in his eyes was heartbreaking. She smirked.

"Fuck..." Sam pulled away from his brother. "I have to get out of here," he said, more to himself than to Dean, and rushed out half-naked.

_Ugh,_ she thought. Stupid, noble Sam was messing up her depraved plans! She sulked in a corner.

It was raining, windy, and icy cold for Texas. Sam shivered - he was only wearing sweatpants. He sat on a cold concrete stoop beneath a grey awning. The motel parking lot was mostly empty, except for the Impala, a Volkswagen, and a rusty old Ford pickup. A woman leaned on the pickup, smoking under the brim of a cowboy hat.

She devised a more permanent cage to keep Sam in, twisting his metal bookcases into heavy chains. She'd sing him to sleep again, sure, but in case he woke up, he'd be powerless. She licked her lips. If only she had handcuffs.

She frowned. Subduing Sam was all too easy when Dean wasn't around. Possessing him outright should be a cinch... as long as he didn't get too near his pesky big brother. She bit her lip, trying to think of a way to exact revenge while simultaneously executing The Plan, _without_  getting too close to Dean. Then it came to her. She beamed.

It was a solid half-hour before Sam's soggy, dispossessed form re-entered the motel room.

She noted immediately that Dean was wide awake, hip flask in hand.  _Perfect. Time for stage two._

She feigned a casual yawn.

"Where'd you go?" Dean said cautiously, trying not to look too concerned. She puked in her mouth a bit.

"What?" she scoffed. "Just, you know, outside." Then she gave him a look of derision, and pity. "Don't worry, Dean, I wouldn't just leave like that."

Dean smiled bitterly. "Yeah, unless you had a good reason to, right?"

"Right." She prolonged eye contact. "You can trust me, Dean."

He'd been watching Sam's face for something, but apparently didn't see it, and turned away. "Yeah, okay Sammy," he murmured.

She snuggled down into Sam's lumpy bed. The most cursory look at Sam's memories told her Dean had abandonment issues, to which John, and later Sam, were central. By the time Dean woke up the next morning, she would have ridden Sam across several state lines.  _This might prove entertaining after all_ , she thought to herself, and closed her eyes with a smile.

...


	25. S2E14

[Set after Season 2, Ep. 14 - "Born Under a Bad Sign"]

...

_It's like hell. Even for demons. It's a prison made of bone, and flesh, and blood, and fear._

Dean hated those fuckers.

He woke up in a cold sweat, unable to recall whatever it was he'd just been dreaming about. He stepped out of bed quietly and glanced down at Sam's sleeping form. He was frowning.  _Who frowns in their sleep?_ Dean thought. Sam's frown deepened and he turned his cheek against the pillow.

"You poor kid," he murmured, rubbing his thumb over Sam's furrowed brow as if to smooth out the worry there.

Still asleep, Sam grasped the back of Dean's hand and lifted his face so his nose brushed the inside of Dean's fingers. His brow uncreased, and Dean felt the soft breaths slow against his skin. Then Sam kissed his palm.

Dean yanked his hand away. Sam was just dreaming. He probably thought Dean was Jess, or someone else. Sam frowned again and turned away from Dean, clutching the pillow beside his head.

Dean rubbed his hand over his mouth. Meg was right - he was truly worthless.

_You couldn't save your Dad, and deep down... you know that you can't save your brother. They'd have been better off without you._

He wandered to the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. That bitch might have been right about him, but she was dead wrong about Sam. He was going to save his little brother if it was the last thing he did. He didn't know how yet, but he'd figure something out.

He pulled the bathroom door closed so the light wouldn't disturb Sam, and sat on the floor with his back against the wall and his legs stretched in front of him. His fingers found the amulet under his collar, and felt the new addition of the smaller anti-possession charm hanging from the same cord.

He thought of all the crap that had happened in the past six months, since Dad died. If someone had told him a year ago that he'd be... well, he wouldn't have believed it. His fingers traced the amulet's brass horns and he thought of Sam having nightmares in the next room. Dad's last words to him were like a curse.

_By the way, I saw your Dad there. He says 'howdy.'_

Dean winced. How could he have fucked up so bad? And speaking of fucked up...

_Dean... why did you take your pants off last night?_

His breath caught in his throat.

_You're torturing me, Dean._

He clenched his teeth, pressing his head back into the wall behind him. He was getting turned on thinking about his little brother. He shut his eyes in agony.

_But you didn't hate it,_ he thought with disgust.  _You enjoyed it, didn't you? You wanted more. You've been fucking anyone who'll have you, but it's not the same, is it? It's not as good with girls anymore._ He touched the bullet wound on his shoulder. Even though it had been Meg punching the crap out of him, not Sam, it was good to hear those words from Sam's mouth. He  _was_ worthless. At least he knew it. Sam should give him a bloody nose more often.

He raised his eyebrows, surprised at that thought.  _You are one twisted sonofabitch._

_Just stay away from me._

He thought of the time he'd impulsively kissed Sam when they were looking for Ava. Sam had shoved him away. He should have taken a fucking hint ages before that, though. Back by the lake, on that clear day in late Autumn...

_God if you're not careful you will have to waste me one day, Dean._

He remembered that green afternoon. He'd been so damn desperate to make things right between them, he'd seduced his own brother.

"You are seriously messed up," he whispered to himself.

He'd woken up to find Sam gone.

_Just trust me, all right?_

He'd been wrong. Sam hadn't left because they'd fucked - he'd been planning to leave all along. The sex had just been a distraction that ensured Dean slept through the night. Dean hung his head.

_Some of the stars we see have already died._

He knew what he had to do. Despite everything, he was still a good hunter - he could still help Sam, as long as he stopped fucking up Sam's life. He'd stick around to protect him, encourage him to get out more... and once Sam was out of danger it would be Dean's turn to leave, let Sammy live his life. Dean would always be a hunter, but Sam didn't have to be. He didn't have to live a hunter's life, and he didn't have to die a hunter's death.

It was his fault Sam was here in the first place.

He closed his eyes and wished with all his heart that he'd never gotten lonely, never gone to bother Sam at Stanford, never disobeyed his father, never let him die. While he was wishing for impossible things, he wished his mom was still alive, and Jess... Sam deserved to be happy, even if Dean wasn't.

...

"Dean?"

Dean woke up with a start. He was still on the bathroom floor. "Heya Sammy," he mumbled.

"Did you... fall asleep in the bathroom?" Sam squatted on the floor next to him, concerned.

_What's it look like,_ he thought belligerently. "No."

"Dean."

"I'm fine Sam, just stop looking at me like that, all right?" Dean rubbed his eyes. "What time is it?"

"Ah... a little after five?"

He squinted at his brother. "You're up early."

"Couldn't sleep."

"Bad dream?"

Sam smiled flatly.

"You'll tell me if you start smelling oranges, right?"

Sam frowned. "Yeah, of course. But it wasn't a vision, Dean, it was just a- a bad dream, like you said."

"Right," Dean stared at the floor. "Just a bad dream."

"You're bleeding."

"Huh?"

"From where I shot you. Alright, come on." He put one hand on Dean's uninjured arm and the other on his side, and, avoiding his injured shoulder, helped him to his feet.

His skin tingled where Sam's hands touched him. Sam hadn't touched him much lately, and it felt... too good. He backed away in horror.

"Whoa, okay... okay," Sam said gently, holding his hands in front of him so Dean could see them. "I'll go get the first aid kit."

Dean put the lid down on the toilet and sat on it mechanically. Sam had patched him up a thousand times before. Completely normal. And, unlike Jo, Sam knew what he was doing. He looked up warily as his little brother returned with a bag full of gauze and antiseptic, scissors and tape, needle and thread.

Sam knelt at his feet. "Okay take off your shirt," he said, rifling through the bag on the counter.

Dean did as he was told, but immediately wished he hadn't. He felt exposed. The t-shirt lay on the floor out of reach - black, with a darker smudge on one of the sleeves.

Sam selected Betadine, antiseptic gel, and two different types of gauze, laying them out in a line. He turned toward Dean and looked him over, then quickly glanced away. After a second, he directed his eyes at Dean's shoulder, where the bloody bandage from the previous night was coming unstuck. Sam peeled it off and inspected the wound. Dean flinched slightly when Sam touched him.

"Did you do this yourself?"

"No."

Sam looked him in the eyes. "Jo?"

Dean nodded.

He frowned. "She didn't pack it."

"How's it look?"

"Pretty deep."

Dean grinned. "You think I'll die?"

Sam scowled, then pushed his arm back gently, examining the wound. "Okay, shower first." He handed Dean the bottle of Betadine.

"I think I'll pass."

"What?"

"Look Sam, I'll do it later, all right?"

Sam glared at him. "Do you want me to help you or not?"

Dean opened his mouth to say he didn't give a fuck what Sam did, but the words that came out were "Wait outside."

Sam nodded, and shut the door behind him as he left.

Dean turned the water as hot as he could stand it, and washed off quickly, cleaning the gunshot wound last. He gritted his teeth as the scalding water hit his shoulder.

Once he had a towel securely around his waist, he pulled the door open. Sam was leaning against the doorframe, looking solemn.

They returned to their stations, Sam kneeling at his feet. His fingers were sure as he packed the wound with a moist, sterile gauze strip and applied antiseptic to the outer rim. Dean always made fun of how carefully Sam patched him up, but he'd never had to go to the hospital with a wound infection the way their father had. Sam was even good at taking out bullets - he made it not hurt so much.

He could have joked about playing doctor, but Sam looked so grave that it didn't seem funny.

Sam covered his work with a clean gauze pad, taping three sides down. He reached behind Dean's shoulder with the last piece of tape, then stuck it to the counter, putting his hands on Dean's hips and pulling him forward so he'd have a better angle.

Without thinking, Dean slugged him. He must have been startled by how close Sam was, or something.

Sam's expression darkened further as he wiped a smear of blood on the back of his hand from his busted lip. Dean watched him, surprised. Sam was seriously upset about something. He stood, smoothed the bandage over Dean's shoulder, taped the last side down, and left without a word.

Dean stared after him.

...


	26. -S2E15-

...

Sam was itching to find another case, and Dean was too, apparently. They worked in silence.

When evening came and they still hadn't spoken, Dean approached him, closing the laptop where Sam had been searching the news for crop failures and pushing it aside, sitting on the table where it had been.

He offered Sam his hip flask. Sam swallowed a mouthful of the fiery liquid and passed it back. Dean took a long drink and set it down, rubbing a hand over his face. In the light from the motel lamp, he could make out the faint dusting of freckles across the bridge of Dean's nose. Guilt and affection twisted together in his gut.

"What's up with you, Sam?"

Sam thought about it. He wasn't really looking forward to talking about this either, but he had to know.

"While I was possessed, did I... Did I do something to you?"

Dean scoffed. "Well you didn't exactly sit at home watching  _Casa Erotica_."

He set his jaw. "Tell me the truth, Dean, 'Cause I'm picturing the worst here."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Sam grimaced. He put it as gently as possible. "Dean... you're covered in bruises and you're scared of me touching you."

Dean blinked. "So?"

"What did I do to you, Dean?" His voice was slow, and harsh.

"It wasn't you."

"Dean-"

"Listen to me, Sam, you did nothing wrong! All right?"

"What about Meg?" Sam ground out.

"What are you looking for? She uh, she shot me and punched me in the face. Nothing I can't handle."

"So... that's it?"

"That's it."

Neither of them spoke. At length, they both went back to work.

Sam vividly remembered fighting to control the wrath inside him, and failing.  _Please,_ he had begged himself,  _Don't hurt Dean. Please just leave him alone._  He hadn't known he was possessed; rather, he'd been certain his conversion into something evil had finally begun.

Finding out that he'd been possessed should have been a relief, but it was not. If anything, his sense of uneasiness had grown. The previous night he'd dreamed about his own death. He doubted it was prophetic, but... all of it filled him with a pervasive sense of disquiet.

Even if Dean had come out unscathed this time - which was a big "if" - Sam took the events of the past week as hard evidence that he couldn't be trusted.

...

[ _Side story - several days later..._ ]

[Set  **before** Season 2, Ep. 15 - "Tall Tales"]

...

Dean muttered something under his breath. It sounded like "Evel Knievel."

" _What_?"

"Bunnies are evil!"

"Dean?" Sam tried to keep his voice level. "I thought you... liked bunnies."

Dean shoved the laptop moodily in Sam's direction. Sam quickly saw that the cartoon rabbit was trying to get them to fly CanadaAir more frequently.

"It's like a little mini dictator," Dean grunted. "Telling people what to do."

Sam shook his head. "Anyway... Dean, why don't you let me take care of the evil... pop-up ads. You can read  _this._ " He slid the heavy volume on demonic possession over to Dean's side of the table in exchange for the computer.

Dean regarded the book with disgust. "Seriously?"

Sam ignored him. He'd just blocked pop-ups and closed all the advertisements to find a site called  _Busty Asian Beauties_ running on his computer. He glared at Dean. "I thought you were looking for a case."

Dean's eyes got big, and he lifted the open reference book slowly so that it gradually blocked his head from view.

Sam snorted and kicked Dean's shin under the table.

"Hey!" Dean dropped the book and kicked him back, hard.

"You read," Sam commanded, massaging his bruised leg. "I'll find us a case."

"You're such a control freak," Dean said under his breath.

...


	27. Valentine's Day

[Set after Season 2, Ep. 15 - "Tall Tales"]

...

Bobby didn't know what could have made those boys fight. Well, trickster, sure, but that thing had actually managed to get between them. He just wouldn't have expected it. They spent all their time together on the road, in close quarters, and they still got along like beer and peanuts. He smiled inwardly, thinking how they'd argue about food. But they hadn't been playfully bickering or even tussling towards the end, they'd been going for each other's soft spots, which was one thing they  _never_  did normally. He was glad he'd come when he did, before things got out of hand, but... there had to be some reason  _why._  It was inconsistent - the other victims of the trickster had been getting some sort of poetic justice for something they'd done. But what had Sam and Dean done? Gotten on too well?

Bobby watched the boys get out of the car. Dean walked by Sam, leaving a hair too much space between them, as if afraid of touching his brother. The hunter narrowed his eyes and followed them into the bar. Maybe something  _was_ afoot.

The boys sat across from him, leaning very slightly away from one another. Sam looked as though his hips were positioned to avoid bumping his long legs into Dean's under the table. Again, it was nothing exaggerated. Not something he would've noticed, had he not been used to those boys ignoring any concept of personal space when they were around each other.

Eventually Dean got up and wandered off, and he shared a meal with Sam. They sat in quiet contemplation. He bore no ill will toward the boy but they seldom had much to say to one another. At length, Sam got up too, leaving Bobby to his thoughts.

At first, he had nothing. Then...  _Oh_ , he thought. Without meaning to, he said out loud: "So things finally went  _that_ way."

"What way?" Sam asked, sitting down with two beers. Dean was across the room, talking to some pretty girl who looked like she was in high school.

"South," he said meaningfully.

Sam squinted at him, clearly concerned. Bobby realized that, like a damn fool, he had started a conversation he didn't really want to be having. He watched realization cross Sam's features. Sam lowered his eyes.

After a long pause, Sam exhaled. "How can you tell?"

Bobby admired his courage - Sam could have easily thrown him the 'mildly concerned but not really sure what you're talking about' face and said something to the effect of 'what do you mean?' and Bobby would have questioned the whole thing. Dean was a better hunter by a long shot, but Sam was a damn good liar. It scared Bobby a little, sometimes. Put him on his guard. But Sam wasn't hiding it. Instead, he was trying to figure out what gave them away.

He didn't really know how to describe it any other way, so he enunciated shortly, "Poetic justice."

"Ah," Sam gave a short, unhappy laugh. "That."

"Wouldn'ta known otherwise," he grunted in what he hoped was a reassuring manner.

"Yeah?" Sam sounded a little hopeful. Though maybe that was for Bobby's sake. Then, "Hey Bobby, I have to talk to you about something."

Bobby took a drink and waited. After a moment, he looked over at Sam, who seemed to be examining the label of his beer. He'd had just enough time to think  _What the hell?_ when Sam said brightly, "Do you think this charm would work as a tattoo?" He held up the anti-possession charm Bobby had given him the week before.

Bobby was taken aback by the sudden emotional shift. "Well, yeah, I suppose so, if you got the detail work right."

Sam smiled. "Thanks, Bobby."

"Anything else?" Bobby had a sneaking suspicion that  _that_ hadn't been what Sam was originally planning to talk about.

"Nope," Sam said calmly, and Bobby left it alone.

...

* * *

[ _Later that evening..._ ]

...

Bobby had tried to be a comforting presence, but had left eventually, to head back to South Dakota. Sam had offered him a ride to wherever he was parked, but he insisted it was real close, dryly adding that he enjoyed the night air. Sam wasn't going to push the issue.

If Bobby was freaked out, he hadn't shown it, though the last thing he'd said -  _Tell Dean I said bye_ \- was a little weird. Bobby always seemed to have more to talk about with Dean than he did with Sam.

With Bobby gone, Sam spent far too long sitting in the bar, watching Dean flirt with people who weren't him. It sucked, sure, but it also was kinda nice - Sam had been worried about how Dean might have coped with him being possessed by Meg... He couldn't remember most of it, but what he did remember wasn't good. And Dean, of course, hadn't wanted to talk about it. Sam found it unnerving whenever Dean just drove in silence after a case - Dean had a tendency to get amped up by their work, so he was often a motormouth once a case was closed. After Sam was possessed, Dean had met his dirty joke quota, to be sure, but it'd felt a little forced.

Now he seemed okay. Which meant Sam was going to be okay with it.

Sam didn't really expect Dean to bring anyone home, but when he did, Sam wasn't terribly surprised. He bit back all the comments that came to his mind - they weren't really fair, considering he'd been the one to end things, albeit for a good reason that had nothing to do with... But he couldn't help but say, "Hey, Dean... would you mind going somewhere else?"

Dean looked him straight in the eyes and said reasonably, "Why can't you?" Then he grinned, eyes twinkling in a way that made Sam's heart ache. "I'm the one that needs the bed."

Sam gritted his teeth, so close to trying to explain himself that it was making him physically uncomfortable. Dean gave him a sly smile and clapped him on the shoulder. In a loud, friendly voice he announced, "Should let me hook you up next time." Sam turned away and Dean closed the motel door behind him with a click.

Sam didn't really have anywhere to go, plus he'd forgotten to ask Dean for the car keys. He sat outside the window in a plastic chair. A light came on a couple yards down the walkway, shining right in his eyes. He put his head in his hands, thinking. Even over the grind of an air conditioning unit, he could hear muffled sounds from inside the room. No way could he sit outside, listening, waiting for them to finish. Dean probably wouldn't care if he went in for the keys, but the idea of doing that was just nasty. So Sam flexed his toes in his old trainers, decided they were good enough to run in, and peeled his shirts off, leaving his clothes by the door. He eyed his jeans with disdain, weighing the pros and cons of wearing them. His boxers were dark, and would look more like short-shorts, but in the light from the motel he'd feel weird. Resolved to run away from the town's glow, he shed his pants too.

Sam found he was intensely angry, which allowed him to extend his run far longer than was usual. After several minutes he could hardly feel the freezing air in the halo of heat that surrounded him. He measured his frustration in footfalls.

He figured he'd been gone at least three hours, probably closer to four.  _Hopefully Dean's done by now,_ he thought, clenching his teeth at the thought that the woman might spend the night. He decided that if she was still there, he'd get another room.

He stretched as slowly as possible, and pulled his jeans on. The door was locked. He knocked resentfully. The door opened immediately.

"Dude, where were you?" Dean demanded. Sam peered around him but saw no sign of the woman. He realized he had left his cell phone in the pocket of his jacket, which, of course, was in the motel room. "The fuck, Sam -" Dean grabbed Sam's damp arms. "Answer me!"

Sam was sick of the double standard, and sickened by the purplish lipstick marks covering Dean's body. "God, put some clothes on," he said bitterly, throwing his shirt at Dean's head.

Dean threw Sam's shirt right back at him. "You put clothes on! Why do I need to wear clothes if you're not going to?"

"Dude, I was running. You were sleeping with some random chick!"

"So? Everyone's random, Sam. We move from town to town. That's how it works!"

"Yeah? Well I don't have lipstick on my ass, Dean!"

"Oh, right," Dean rolled his eyes. "How could I have missed that relevant detail?" He sighed. "Look, you wanna do something about it?"

Sam stuck his chin out. Of course he did.

"Yeah, didn't think so. So shut up." Dean gave him a cold, threatening look that put butterflies in Sam's stomach, then grabbed Sam's shirt out of his hands and stalked off. Moments later, Sam could hear the hiss of the shower.

He stared at the oddly-patterned carpet in the main room. "Now I  _can't_ get dressed," he muttered dejectedly, then flopped on the bed face-first, wondering,  _Why's it so easy to get angry at him?_

_..._


	28. Flashback - S1E01

...

"Let's hear it, Sam." Bobby's voice was gruff over the phone.

"Yeah." Sam took a deep breath. "So... we did a case, a while back, where there was this Woman in White. She went after... unfaithful spouses, cheating boyfriends..." Sam sighed, rubbing his face before hurrying on. "One of the people we interviewed on the case, his girlfriend had...  _left_  him, and he ended up in this complicated relationship with someone else. They weren't actually dating, but they were... together. Why did she target him? I mean-" Sam tried to explain, "He said he hadn't been unfaithful, and she said, 'You will be.' Was she referring to his girlfriend? Or the person he would end up sleeping with?"

"Now how the  _hell_  am I supposed to know-" Bobby stopped talking abruptly. "Wait a minute. Sam?"

"You know what, Bobby? It's not that important. Dean looks like he needs help-"

"Just hold-"

"I'd better go." Sam hung up, hearing Bobby swear at him as he pulled the phone away from his ear and pressed  **END**. He ran his fingers through his hair. It was an old, nagging rumination that he'd never laid to rest. He didn't know why he'd called Bobby about it.  _Bobby's pretty insightful,_  he thought.  _That wasn't the brightest move, telling that story in third person like he wouldn't put two and two together._

_..._

[ _Flashback_  - Set after Season 1, Ep. 1 - "Pilot"]

...

Sam fidgeted in his seat. He kept having nightmares, which meant he didn't sleep much, which meant he should take a nap while they were driving. He couldn't calm down though - his mind kept shifting into darkness.

He forced himself not to picture Jess burning on the ceiling, rifling through his memory for something -  _anything else_  - he could contemplate. His thoughts fell on their recent case, returning to hunting, and the woman in white.

What she'd said to him hadn't really made sense. Who was he supposed to be unfaithful to? The only person he'd felt vague stirrings of attraction towards in recent months, besides Jessica (he shut his eyes tightly, trying to concentrate on the current train of thought,  _not flames, not blood, the smell..._ ) was actually... Dean. Sam silently ridiculed himself.  _Right, like I'm going to get with my cute-but-extremely-straight brother_. Even the idea of it made him a little nauseous.

These thoughts persisted through the following (sleepless) nights. Sam didn't particularly  _want_  to think about these things, but he needed to distract himself from the profound sense of vacancy, the burning emptiness. It was overwhelming. Since he could barely remember his mother, Jess marked the first, the  _sharpest_  loss he'd ever experienced.

It hurt. It hurt that he'd known, but hadn't done anything. And Dean wasn't exactly the warmest companion... not that he cared. He wasn't planning on telling Dean about the dreams. Not ever. Dean would think he was a freak. And he would be right.

Each thought was like a bright flare of disgust - the ease with which he'd replaced his healthy life at Stanford with this... existence. And the disturbing feeling that he didn't mind - he was in it for revenge, to kill the thing that took Jessica, but beyond that, he just didn't mind it. Hell, he was at home.

That hurt.

He couldn't get what the woman in white had said out of his head, though - now that Jess was gone, how was he supposed to be unfaithful? It wasn't a big deal, but he'd never really known ghosts to make false prophecies. It didn't fit.

Then it hit him - he'd already been unfaithful. He'd gone off with Dean, abandoning Jessica.  _I let her die. It's on me._

_That_  made him angry.

...

[ _End Flashback_ ]

...

_Fuck._ He rolled over on his face. He missed Jessica. Loving her had been easy. It had made sense. It hadn't been a secret.

_You knew and you didn't do anything._ He silently vowed never to make that mistake again.

They hadn't killed the yellow-eyed demon. The impatience he had felt then, when he started hunting, hadn't gone away. If anything, it had grown. If anything, he was the worse for returning to this life. He  _still_  missed Jessica. And him and Dean had gotten closer, but they were drifting apart again. He thought, suddenly, that he was glad it wasn't Dean that he missed.

That would be different.

...


	29. S2E17

[Set after Season 2, Ep. 17 - "Heart"]

...

Sam was kneeling by Madison's body, tears streaming down his cheeks. Dean stood by him for a moment, and then his skin started to crawl.

"Sammy, come on, we have to go."

He wiped his nose on his sleeve like a kid, sniffing loudly. "Dean, I want to bury her."

"I know." Dean knelt beside him, voice low and serious. "Sam, we can't just carry a body out of the building."

"We'll come back at night!"

"Yeah, sure we will. Come on," he hauled Sam to his feet. Sam allowed himself to be led out the door and down the stairs. Dean realized just how lucky it was that her overprotective neighbor had been Papa Wolf. Nobody bothered them on their way out.

They hauled ass. Dean's main objective was to put San Francisco in their rearview mirror, but hell, Sam did  _not_ look all right. He looked like he might puke, actually. On instinct, Dean pulled over. They could still see the Golden Gate Bridge.

Sam got out and slammed his door, leaning against the side of the car with his hands in his pockets. Reluctantly, Dean did the same, watching Sam closely as he walked around the car.

They stood silently for a long time. Eventually, Sam wiped his face. He'd stopped crying, but he still looked sad as hell. "Dean, I'm so sorry."

Dean set his jaw. "There's nothing to be sorry about," he said with authority.

Sam gazed into his eyes sadly. "Yeah, there is, Dean." His voice cracked. "You  _know_  there is."

"Look man, I don't wanna talk about this, all right? Just, there's nothing to be sorry about." He bumped his shoulder into Sam's. "You uh... you did the right thing."

"I'm not so sure," Sam said softly, turning so his chest was against Dean's shoulder, and pressing his nose to the side of Dean's head. Dean couldn't tell if Sam had just kissed his head or not. Maybe it was some other affectionate gesture.

He'd jerked off four times in the past 24 hours and he still felt like he was overheating. "Sam," he said as evenly as possible, "Don't touch me."

"Sorry." Sam stepped back.

"Apologize one more time and I'll punch you," Dean promised.

"Asshole." Sam smiled a little, though his cheeks still looked wet.

"Yeah, yeah. We good?"

"Yeah, Dean." Sam squared his shoulders and stood next to him. He seemed big and solid. "We're good."

"Good." Dean couldn't get back in the car fast enough.  _Shit,_ he thought.  _Shit, shit, shit._

...

_You manipulated him. Got him to fuck you in the ass. Twisted his mind to indulge your sick desire to sleep with your little brother._

But Sammy was over it, thank god. He was okay. So Dean would have to forget about those feelings, shove them into some dark corner of his head. Let them go, if he could.  _Nah,_ he thought.  _Not like it's some big fucking deal._ _Sam's not making a big deal of it. You just misjudged the whole situation. Leave it alone._

He didn't know what that thing was that happened between him and his little brother, but whatever it was, it was over now. Sam was over it, which meant Dean was over it too.

Dean had been projecting something onto Sam, and it wasn't fair. He wasn't even sure someone  _could_ feel that way about him. So there was no point in worrying. And he never had any trouble scoring, so he'd keep doing that until the uncertainty went away. _  
_

...


	30. S2E18

[Set after Season 2, Ep. 18 - "Hollywood Babylon"]

...

Dean pulled the covers over his head, kicked off his underwear, and pressed his face into the pillow. Sam was fast asleep in the other bed, but Dean didn't want to chance Sam waking up to him jerking off. He was trying valiantly to think of Tara - she was a foxy actress with a deep appreciation for the finer things in life, such as pulpy horror flicks... she was great in bed, she  _wasn't_  his little brother... but his thoughts kept drifting. He didn't really have any idea who or what he kept thinking about, but it was getting on his nerves, so he sought release, those endorphin things, and the oblivion that would follow.

When his brain failed to form a picture of Tara (or, for that matter, any girl) he decided it was time for external stimulation. He pulled his shorts back on and crept around Sam's bed, feeling in the dark for the laptop.

Sam made a snuffing sound and turned over, causing the bed to groan. Dean froze, listening. Sam breathed evenly.

_Freakin' Sasquatch._ He eased the zipper down on Sam's backpack and felt around. The laptop was broad and smooth and more solid than most of the stuff in Sam's backpack. Plus it took up like, half the space in there. All he felt was clothes.  _The fuck?_ He listened for a second then dug to the bottom in earnest. A narrow, ridged metal thing, probably a penknife. A wooden shaft - pencil. Oblong plastic bottle - shampoo for Sammy's flowing locks. Tiny plastic bottle...  _Whoa, okay_ , Dean dropped it and extracted his arm quickly. He really did not want to know what Sam used his KY for.

_Definitely not in there._ Dean felt around in the vicinity of the backpack. Their other bags were in the car. He shrugged, and grabbed the car keys.

_Not here either,_  he thought with frustration, shivering in his underwear at the chill air of early morning. It had to be in the room - Sam was  _way_  too neurotic to leave it anywhere. He closed the door quietly.

A quick glance around the motel room told him Sam hadn't gotten it out, which he already knew - when Sam said they couldn't stay in Hollywood, Dean had grumpily driven east, and spent half the night at it. Not that he minded the whole shooting-ghosts-full-of-rocksalt routine, he was just itching for something a little more substantial. Hitting the road took the edge off that restlessness. He missed killing solid, evil motherfuckers that had it coming. When he'd finally stopped driving he'd had to slap Sam to get him out of the car. That kid could literally sleep anywhere. He'd dragged Sam's heavy carcass through the door and dropped him on the closest bed, and Sam had insisted on brushing his teeth, but had almost fallen asleep in the bathroom. Then he'd dropped his clothes on the floor and collapsed in Dean's bed.

Dean just wasn't tired.

He looked over at Sam's sprawled form.  _Would he have taken it to bed with him?_

_Nah,_ Dean thought. But Sam  _had_ been neurotically overpossessive of his laptop lately...

He weighed how much he wanted to get off. Screw that, he definitely wanted to get off. He tried to picture Tara again but with her floppy brown hair she kept transforming into-

He decided it was worth checking anyway, since Sam seemed thoroughly konked out.

He started on the side Sam wasn't facing, and felt lightly along the covers, then turned one of the pillows gently. Nothing. He tiptoed to the other side of the bed, inching his hand under the pillow under Sam's head...

In a flash, Sam's hunter reflexes kicked in and Dean's wrist was circled with an iron grip. Sam lifted his head, blinked twice. "D'n?"

"Heh," Dean flashed what he hoped was a charming smile in the darkness.

Sam didn't let go of his wrist. "What're you doin'?" His voice was thick with sleep.

"Uh, yeah, about that," Dean tried to sound casual, but he couldn't think of any  _good_  excuse for sticking his hand under his brother's pillow at night. "Okay I got nothing."

Sam squinted up at him for a long moment, as if waiting for his brain to kick in. Then he sluggishly got to his feet. Dean put a hand on his chest to steady him and push him away a bit, because, dude, personal space. But Sam was either sleepy or being oblivious because he took a step forward and his half-naked body was pressed against Dean's. Dean felt heat spread over his skin and pool in his groin, and stepped back like he'd been burned.

"Oh god... Dean..." Sam left for the bathroom looking thoroughly disgusted, still walking sleepily.

_This is good,_ Dean thought,  _I need to see this._ Didn't stop it from hurting like hell, though. He plopped down on the edge of Sam's bed and sat numbly, elbows on his knees, face in his hands.

After a bit he heard the toilet flush and the water run.

Standing, he cleared his throat. "I was, uh. Looking for your laptop," he addressed Sam's neck because he couldn't meet his eyes. Go for the truth and pretend that didn't just happen.

"Hid it," Sam grunted, rubbing his eyes.

"Why?" Dumb question, he knew the answer.

"Because, Dean, you watch porn every night and you never ask."

"Oh." Dean rubbed the back of his neck. "Where'd you hide it?"  _Worth a try,_ he thought.

"Car."

"Really? Cuz I just looked there."

"Under the back seat."

"Oh," Dean acknowledged this with a frown. He hadn't looked there. "Thanks," he mumbled.

"Yeah."

They stood there awkwardly for a moment before Dean decided he'd rather go to bed.

...

Dean got the call five minutes later.

"Slow down, man, what?" he said as Deacon yammered away through the speaker. It was a job, and a chance to repay an old debt. "Yeah, okay, all right. I'll be there soon." He ended the call, carefully avoiding Sam's eyes.

"Who was that?"

"A job," he grunted.

"Okay... who's it for?" Sam was doing that freaky psychic thing. He could tell by the edge in his voice.

He shut his eyes. Sam was not going to like this.

"Dean."

"It's for Deacon."

"Deacon?"

Dean was silent. With any luck, Sam's encyclopedia-brain hadn't stored that entry. Of course,

"Deacon Kaylor? The- the prison warden?!" Sam's voice was already harsh with  _ohmygoddeanwhatthefuckdidyoujustdo._

He turned away. "Yeah. That Deacon."

"Dean... where's the job?"

"Where do you think, Sam."

"Dean..." he sensed Sam coming up to stand behind him. His voice got quiet. "Dean, no."

"Too late, I already agreed."

"So? Call him back."

He didn't move.

"Come on, tell him you can't!"

He closed his eyes.  _Looks like I'm doing this job alone._

"Dean?"

He must have been quiet too long, because Sam was suddenly in front of him, holding his upper arms firmly, not tight enough that it would hurt, but like he was trying to shake some sense into his brother. Their bodies were close in the bluish dark. Dean stared at the floor.

"Hey." Sam let go of his arms and clasped his face in both hands. Dean was startled by the gesture... made his heart beat faster. Sam was standing so goddamn close. His face got hot.  _Pervert_ , his brain reminded him. On some dumb impulse, he looked up into Sam's eyes.

Sam was watching him like he was suicidal or something, which just made him feel tired.

"Look, Sam. He saved Dad's life in Vietnam. That means we owe him ours."

Sam scoffed. "No it doesn't." He was scrunching up his nose, mouth hanging open, which would've been cute if he didn't look so pissed.

Dean gave him a stony look. Technically, it did.

Sam stopped raising his eyebrows and his lips got tight. "No. You- That's insane."

"Whatever, I'm doing it. Simple haunting, you can hang back. I'll only be a few days."

"Dean," Sam held him tighter. "Talk about stupid ideas... We're wanted by the FBI! And you're just going to- to what? Go to prison? Hand yourself over?"

He held his ground. "That's the plan."

"Fuck," Sam let go of him to pace away, rubbing his hands over his face. "This is such a bad idea."

"No one said you had to come."

"Dean, just slow down."

"What, you think you can stop me?" Dean spread his hands, hoping Sam would take the bait. He could use a decent fistfight, he'd take one any day over this emotional bullshit.

"No," Sam said tersely. He sat down at the foot of Dean's bed, and put his head in his hands.

Dean flicked on the light and grabbed his duffel bag.

"Is there any way I can change your mind?"

"Not this time, Sam." Dean packed in silence for a minute. He could feel Sam staring at his back, but didn't turn around. Then a nasty thought occurred to him. He kept his voice casual. "Hey Sam, you uh, gonna be here when I get back?"

"No Dean-"

Dean nodded.  _Of course not,_ he thought.

"I'm coming with you."

"What?" Dean turned, not sure he'd heard right.

"What."

"Nah, I just, didn't hear you right. I thought you just said you were coming with me."

"I am," Sam said simply.

"What the hell, Sam? You just said it was nuts, now you're, what, all for one and one for all?"

Sam shrugged. "Not exactly, I mean, it's still insane, Dean. I'm just not letting you go alone."

Dean's chest felt weird. "You're such a girl."

"And you're a friggin jerk," Sam retorted.

"Bitch," Dean tossed a pair of rolled up socks at his little brother. Sam caught them as he stood, then caught Dean in a smothering hug. He murmured something against Dean's head.

The hug probably lasted too long, but Dean didn't pull away.

...


	31. S2E19 (Dream 1)

[Set after Season 2, Ep. 19 - "Folsom Prison Blues"]

...

Not far from the cemetery, Dean turned off the main road. He reached under the backseat bench and pulled out two license plates, handing one to Sam before getting out and slamming the door. Sam followed. Dean tossed him a socket wrench from the trunk.

They drove north in silence. Sam didn't ask where they were going, but shut his eyes and leaned his head back as a Crown Vic sped past them, sirens blaring. He still didn't know what the fuck they were going to do.  _We really ought to leave the country_ , he thought. Dean wouldn't like that.

His brother's eyes scanned the road for cops. Sam realized that Dean worrying was more unsettling than all the compounded trouble they'd gotten themselves into. Worn thin, they finally stopped at a motel in Illinois. They paid cash.

...

_The deep black around them was pure and calm, dappled silver at the high points by brilliant starlight. They sat on the hood of the Impala, him and Dean, looking up at the stars. Dean turned to him, brow illuminated by those heavenly bodies, and smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners. Happiness. Sam felt it pulsing through his chest. He reached out to touch Dean's hand..._

Sam's ears rang, and a white-hot light seared the inside of his skull, ricocheting through his brain and down his neck while pressing forward through his eyes. Everything spun, and he felt nauseous. Then the fog lifted, rendering the images around him clear, lifelike but still spinning, flashing by a little too fast for him to process properly.

_Nighttime. Wet, dewy air. Dean. Dean was there. His arm hurt. A presence behind him... sudden, blunt pain, bad, in his back. Breathing, not breathing. Hard to breathe. The world slid upward as he fell to his knees._

He opened his eyes, starting awake. The heating unit's low grind assaulted his ears from somewhere to the right. Dazed, he got to his feet, staggering across the room to switch off the heater. The dark air stilled against his sweat-drenched skin.

He knew that dream. He'd had it before, only this time he was sure it was prophetic. His head still pounded from the blinding light, which he'd learned to attribute to incoming visions, and a faint, citrusy flavor stung the insides of his nostrils.

Sometime soon, he would die.

He almost laughed out loud. _That's completely crazy,_ he thought,  _How many people get a premonition of their own death?_  Not to mention... he'd been so concerned about turning evil, it hadn't even occurred to him that he might not be around that long.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to remember the scenery.  _A hunt?_ Yeah, it felt like a hunt. Something came up behind him... then a ripping pain, like it sliced clean through his spine. And Dean was holding him, which meant he hadn't turned into a monster, or something so vile that Dean wouldn't want to touch him. He grinned. Just a normal death, then. It was almost a relief. He frowned, feeling like he should be more afraid. Dean would miss him.  _Dean... God I've been pushing him away..._

He felt a little insane, and chuckled to himself, trying to picture his 'bucket list.' He'd relish a chance to nab the Yellow-Eyed Demon, though they hadn't the faintest idea of his whereabouts. Much as he hated to leave that up to Dean, it didn't seem to be in Sam's stars. So what else?

_Make_ _love to the person you care about._

He smiled. Yeah, he should probably do that. That, and  _Convince_ _him that he's loved, for once,_ which would be... more difficult.

_Short list, huh?_ He shook his head at himself - Dean was all he could think about. He was full of adrenaline, and nothing was making too much sense, but he padded over to Dean's bed and shook him.

"Dean."

"Mm?"

Sam knelt beside his brother, already pressing kisses against his cheek and the side of his neck. "Wake up."

Dean turned towards him slightly, but didn't wake up completely. "Fuck," he mumbled.

Sam reached under the blankets, rolling him over so he was on his back. He felt around for Dean's hand, and his hard-on brushed his arm. Instinctively, Sam rubbed his palm against it. It flexed up to meet the pressure.

Dean grinned, eyes still tightly shut. " _Hell_ yeah. You wanna fuck me?" he murmured.

Sam frowned. "Dean, you're not actually awake."

Dean froze. It took him a minute, but he got up on one elbow, rubbed his eyes, then just blinked at Sam. Even in the dark, Sam could tell he was turning red. He opened his mouth, shut it, opened it again, and a blur of words all came out at once.

"The fuck, Sam? I was just- just having some fucked up dream about... well, now that you mention it I don't actually remember, since you  _interrupted,_ " he paused to glare at Sam, then rushed on. "Besides, I say weird shit in my sleep sometimes, not that you haven't said weirder things in your sleep... heh. Like one time you asked me to open a can of bait for you... I mean, come on! Don't you know how to use a can opener? Clowns, too, you rant about  _them_  all the time... Anyway, get off!" He scowled, giving Sam's shoulder a halfhearted push.

Sam laughed.  _Jesus, Dean, of course I want to fuck you. Why else would I be over here?_  "You're like a pissed off cat when I wake you up in the middle of the night."

"Shut up." Dean chucked the pillow at him. It missed, even though Sam was only two feet away. Sam's reflexes were particularly sharp tonight. He actually felt  _good._ And Dean was checking him out, lips parted, eyes moving from Sam's mouth to his chest, and further down.

"Please, Dean?" Sam said in a softer, deeper voice, tugging the covers off as he nuzzled Dean's neck, rubbing his erection.

"Mm." Dean spread his knees and rocked his hips up against Sam's hand. " _Shit._ What's with this all of a sudden, anyway?"

"It's been too long," Sam whispered, inhaling the scent of his skin (sweat, prison, leather, whiskey) before dragging his teeth over that spot on his neck.

"Goddamn it," Dean growled as Sam yanked his underwear off. He slid his hands against Dean's smooth, firm ass, and Dean pulled Sam down for a long, sweet kiss. Startled, Sam took Dean's face in his hands and kissed him back. His eyes itched and his heart was going too fast. A lump formed in his throat.

Dean's rough fingers rubbed circles into the side of his neck. "Relax, man, it's okay."

Sam took a deep breath, then pressed his nose against Dean's, kissing him hard. He kicked his own pajama pants off, grabbing Dean's hips and pushing his tongue deeper into his mouth.

Dean squirmed under him as Sam's erection skimmed his, then turned his face to the side, breaking the kiss, panting. "What's with this pace? Dude, we have all the time in the world."

Sam pulled back. "I don't think we do," he said quietly.

He dropped his pelvis between Dean's thighs. Dean grimaced.

"Sam, wait... the hell are you talking about?"

Sam kissed him forcefully, so he couldn't ask.

Dean shoved him off, but his voice was gentle. "Whoa, hey, let's just chill out for a second, huh?"

"Dean... please, I need this," he breathed.  _Need to show him while I still have time._ It was a panic reaction, Sam knew, but how often do you find out that sort of thing anyway?

Dean stared up at him. "Sam, what's wrong."

"Nothing, Dean, everything's..." He covered Dean's hand with his own where it rested, fingers splayed, against Sam's chest. "Everything's fine, okay?"

Dean frowned, but didn't resist when Sam stroked his erection - he dug his heels into the bed, breath ragged. Sam wrapped his arms around him and lifted him upright, sitting back on his heels as Dean straddled his bent legs. He held Dean close, a hand on his waist and the other cupping the back of his head; their lips slid together, Dean's cock prodding his stomach, his own pressed down under Dean's ass. When Dean rocked his hips forward it sent a thrill of dry friction through Sam's groin, and Dean tangled his fingers through Sam's hair, other hand spread against Sam's chest - pushing him away and pulling him in at the same time.

He didn't feel like breaking skin contact to get lube so he ran his fingers over Dean's wet lips. To his surprise, Dean opened his mouth and let Sam push two fingers inside, shutting his eyes as he did so. His tongue licked between Sam's middle and ring finger, coating them with saliva, full lips closing over his knuckles. Sam's cock twitched between Dean's legs.

Dean swore as Sam grabbed his ass, pulling their bodies flush, and pressed his slick fingers between Dean's butt cheeks. His gasped against Sam's forehead as his middle finger entered him. Inside, he was hot and silky-smooth. He pushed his finger deeper.

"No, no, no. Sam...  _Fuck._  Stop."

Sam withdrew and Dean scrambled back, stepping off the bed, putting a solid three feet between them. He was flushed, horny, beautiful, but his eyes were scared.

"You," Dean pointed an accusing hand at him, "You are not okay. And you know how I know? Because you only do  _this_ " he gestured between them "when you're not okay." He grabbed a pillow to cover his erection, setting his jaw.

" _What?_ "

"Look, Sam, I know this past... these past couple of years haven't been easy. And that's on me - I mean, I started this fucking mess. God, I pulled you out of college, away from that life you had, and I'm sorry man, I really am. But we don't have to, uh... you know."

Sam stood, approaching him slowly. "Dean, trust me, that's not what this is about."

Dean scoffed. "Oh yeah? Well enlighten me, would you? Because this is one dark road we're going down. I mean this is so friggin far from- from..." Dean passed a hand over his brow.

Sam pulled his hand back gently. "I love you, Dean. And I am prepared to do... whatever it takes to prove it to you. See, I have to," he smiled wryly. "Even if it makes me a freak."

Dean just stared at him, eyes shiny. As Sam stepped closer he dropped the pillow.  _God, Dean, don't look at me like that,_ Sam thought, brushing his lips against Dean's.

Dean kissed him back tentatively, then he groaned, pulling away a little. "Sammy, please, talk to me man."

"I already told you," Sam said calmly. "Nothing's wrong."

"Well then something's not right!"

Sam narrowed his eyes.

"God, you know what? Fuck you." A heavy hand on the back of Sam's neck brought their mouths together and Dean advanced, forcing Sam to retreat until his calves hit the bed and he fell backwards with a thud, pulling Dean down on top of him. He smiled, biting Dean's lip, thinking  _You were the one who said we had all the time in the world_. Dean shoved his shoulders against the mattress, biting him back. Sam tasted copper.

He used the floor beneath his feet as leverage to reclaim control, throwing Dean down on his back in the center of the bed, but Dean used Sam's momentum to reverse their positions again—Sam found himself underneath his brother on the far side of the bed, Dean's legs twisting against his. Dean took Sam's face in his hands and Sam gave him another bruising kiss, rolling his hips so their erections bumped together. He pushed up on Dean's pelvis with one hand and jacked them both roughly with the other. Dean made a muffled sound against his mouth.

...

Later on, Sam woke up again. Dean was sleeping on his face with Sam sprawled on top of him, covering him possessively, knee pressed into the mattress between Dean's legs, arm slung around his body, hand curled against his chest. They'd passed out on Dean's bed, upside-down, with the pillows at their feet.

For some reason, Sam got up on his elbow and shook Dean awake again.

"What." Dean grunted, throwing Sam's arm off.

"I... dunno," Sam said honestly, frowning. Waking Dean up actually  _wasn't_  a good idea - he didn't know why he'd done it.

Dean pushed his back against Sam's chest, squinting over his shoulder at him. "Sam you woke me up, now tell me the question."

Sam wracked his brain for some excuse, but all he could think was that Dean looked beautiful in the half-light. He kissed him, caressed his cheek.

Dean turned away. "Go to sleep, Sam."

Blue a.m. light seeped under the drawn shades, filling the room. He pressed his face against the back of Dean's neck. Dean made a grumbling noise, then, gradually, his breathing steadied.

Sam yawned, beginning to wonder why he'd woken up at all. The memory hit him with heartstopping clarity.

_I'll die soon._

...

Sam watched the blue light turn gold around midmorning.

'Fate' might potentially be averted - something they did along the way could change his destiny. Still, trying to change it without considering other factors that played into the timeline was fruitless, at best. And who but God could see all that?

At worst, trying to avoid a fated death could be the mechanism of someone's undoing.

_This life... Was it worthwhile?_

He thought of his crappy childhood, the lifestyle, of the way he still followed that path like a good little (doomed) soldier. He thought of his mom, of Jess, of all the effort he'd put into learning the law just so he could flee from it now, no wiser, really. He thought of all the people he'd saved, of Dean, and the time they'd had together (too short)... Dean sleeping in his arms... Dean proving to him that he didn't want a normal life as much as he'd thought he did... of a couple scratches on his neck and a deeper cut on his chest, doubtlessly inflicted by the horns of Dean's stupid amulet...

_Yeah_ , he thought.  _Definitely worth it_.

And still, he didn't sleep.

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I appreciate your comments and support more than I can say. If you weren't reading it, I would have absolutely no reason to drag this story out of my imagination.


	32. -S2E20-

[Set  _during_ Season 2, Ep. 20 - "What Is and What Should Never Be"]

...

The next morning they showered and dressed quietly, careful not to touch each other. Dean didn't have to share his feeling of panic when he woke up, it was like Sam knew.

They found a case in the neighborhood almost immediately, which seemed to be a stroke of luck, and spent the day researching monsters. Sam acted weird — he kept knocking things over and apologizing. It was driving Dean crazy. They hadn't talked about whatever happened the night before. Dean knew it had just been another fluke, not to take it to heart. Still, it wore on him. By the time evening fell Sam acted more normal, but Dean was fed up anyway, so when Sam suggested he stop making fart noises with his mouth and go search the area for clues, Dean was more than happy to oblige.

Sam's voice sounded completely casual over the phone, in a way that sort of hurt. Dean had the car, though, so he was calling the shots — in an instant he'd decided to scope out the case on his own, because he just couldn't face his brother's inevitable rejection. Not yet.

...

Maybe he wouldn't have to.

After tumbling through that eerie blue glow, Dean woke up next to some hot chick. He had no idea where he was, what time it was... what day it was. He felt like he'd been drugged.

_Sam's gonna be pissed._

But Sam wasn't pissed, oddly enough. He asked if Dean was drunk-dialing him, then hung up on him.  _Bitch,_ Dean thought.

He wondered vaguely if he'd been transported into some sort of parallel dimension.

His heart almost stopped when he saw the picture of his mother standing next to Sam — grown-up Sam — and he rushed out the door. He knew the way home by heart.

...

_Mom's alive._ That single truth made everything else okay.

The whole damn day, though, he kept doing shit because he felt antsy about something. He didn't know what was up with the djinn, or that mystery chick, or if he'd wake up to find out it'd all been a dream. He settled for alcohol, just enough to ease his nerves. He realized as Sam pulled up that he was really fucking glad to see him.

He wanted to hug the living shit out of his brother but then he saw Jessica and hugged her instead, because she was pretty and  _alive_  and going straight for his brother would be kinda weird. But his brain was just having a firework party of "Oh my god Sam's here... Sam's here!" Seriously, like a hyperactive puppy.

When Jess stepped away from him he was worried she was going to slap him, but then she just smiled pleasantly.

Sam looked like he definitely wanted to slap him, but he refrained...  _that's always a good sign_ , Dean reminded himself. While they chatted, Sam watched him skeptically.

An hour later, when they were about to head off to some restaurant (Carmen had come over with a nice pair of clothes for him and they'd gone into the upstairs bathroom together and she'd dressed him in,  _Jesus_ , the sexiest manner possible — clearly she didn't balk at bossing people around) Dean had had enough of the tension between himself and Sam. When he caught Sam in the back room by himself, straightening his tie (the women were talking by the door) Dean leaned against the chest of drawers, watching him. Sam glanced at him with a frown.

Trying to think of some excuse for being there that would give him information about their relationship, Dean said lamely, "You, uh, you never hugged me." Inwardly, he cringed.

"Right." Sam fixed his tie, then, in making for the door, stooped to give Dean a one-armed hug.

Dean inhaled some sensual aroma that he couldn't place, his nose skimming Sam's cheek completely by accident. Sam squirmed and shoved him away.

"Dude, you're such an alcoholic!"

At that point he  _was_  kinda buzzed. "What, you mean you've never thought about..." Dean left the sentence dangling in the air, smirking at the look of recognition that crossed Sam's face. So he  _had_ thought about it. Dirty boy.

Sam gave him an icy look and stalked out of the room. It was enough, though. Dean didn't have to follow  _that_  temptation to know it was better left alone. This was the best possible scenario — Sam just thought he was drunk. They weren't going to veer so far off course... not again. And he'd never have the chance to make Sam unhappy.

...

The restaurant made him nervous, being all fancy and crap; he couldn't recall if he'd ever eaten at any place like it before. Still, at least he looked the part — when he'd walked in, the hostess had done an obvious double-take that had Carmen scowling and leading him away. His mom ( _God, Mom's here_ , he'd thought for the billionth time) had rolled her eyes with a smile, then exchanged a knowing look with Carmen, who softened.

Carmen leaned over to whisper in his ear.

Dean beamed. Carmen was perfect. Really, what woman would offer to stop for cheeseburgers after a fine dinner, and play it off so coolly?

And Sam - well, Sammy was engaged. Which was also perfect, really. Not only did he get to see Sam, but the shame of their sin had clearly been erased.  _No, not erased,_ he thought,  _it never existed in the first place._  Sam only had eyes for Jessica.  _That's how it should be,_ Dean told himself with a smile.

Watching Sam kiss Jessica didn't make him jealous at all. Really, it didn't. Everything was awesome. He felt like he should kiss Carmen, or something, but his eyes were stuck on Sam. He looked good... a lawyer, engaged...  _shit_ , Dean thought. If this stuff was for real, it was the best life ever.

...

Okay, when Carmen sat in the front seat with his mom, who drove (he couldn't get over how cool his own mother was, insisting on driving and not being pampered just because it was her birthday) and Dean crowded into the back with Sam and Jess, it was maybe a little...  _uncomfortable_ when Sam kissed Jess on the mouth directly in front of him. Dean felt like a pervert. Still, they didn't even look at him, which made him grateful even as heat crept into his cheeks.

He decided it was a perfect night to make merry — him and Sam were straight and normal, and he had a beautiful girl, like, dozens prettier than Sam. For once, his crazy, messed-up life was going  _right_.

Hell, he was happy. Nothing to complain about. Though he couldn't shake the feeling that Carmen was  _too_ perfect. He'd said it jokingly, but why would a smart, sexy girl like that fall for a twisted, worthless guy like him?

_Perfect night_ , he thought with more urgency as Sam and Jess were planning on  _turning in early_ , probably to fuck in the room where Mom had died. And yeah, Dean had a clear preference for this life over the other one, but  _that_  was kinda harsh. Believable, though — nothing about their behavior had aroused any suspicion of trickery. They seemed to genuinely be Sam and Jess, or... well he couldn't tell with Jess because he'd only really met her once, but still. Sam was Sam, bitchiness and all. But there was no way Jess was banging Sam in that room if Dean could help it. Though he really couldn't... He at least wanted to be smashed enough not to think about it, so he proposed they all go out for a drink.

...

When he sat alone by himself that evening, after Sam gave him the brush off and told him they didn't have anything in common, he felt an odd sense of deja vu.

_We don't really have anything in common._

—hadn't he thought that to himself, repetitively, while Sam was away at Stanford?

It was a little weird. Definitely not good. Him and Sam never talked? As much as he'd regretted dragging Sam away from Stanford and starting a...  _hunting trip_  together in recent months, as much as he'd thought how things could have been better if he'd just left Sam the fuck alone, that actually wasn't okay.  _I mean, sure, Sammy's a prissy bitch sometimes, but I never wanted us to... Shit,_ he thought.

_Who says we have nothing in common?!_  He thought angrily for the fifth time. Of course they had stuff in common...  _I mean, I guess we don't, technically,_ _but we have, like, chemistry or something. That's it, chemistry,_ he thought smugly. Though it would be good if he could prove it somehow. And maybe figure out this djinn crap in the process. Yeah, he could live the rest of his life with his mom and a beautiful girl, it wasn't like he needed—

He turned on the TV to silence his thoughts, flipping, out of habit, to news first, where he saw the crash he and Sam had painstakingly stopped, with the demon on the plane...

...

Sam turned his back to the others so Dean alone could see his face, and gave Dean a raw, supplicating look that communicated how fully Dean could have anything he wanted, even in this world. Dean hesitated, for at that moment his brain presented him with two different effects of this not being the real Sam — he could never love him, if only because he'd always know he  _wasn't Sam_ , but at the same time and for the exact same reason, he could never hurt him.

What won out in the end was the feeling he had to leave soon.

Sam held his gaze. "Why's it always our job to save everyone?" But that was precisely what tugged at the back of Dean's brain — it was time to leave, because whenever his real brother came to save him he'd be walking into a trap. His vision blurred. His eyes fell on his mother.

...

They rushed the girl to the hospital. She was still breathing. Dean squeezed his eyes shut at the familiar feeling of relief.  _Guess our work means something,_ he thought bitterly.

He refused to get checked out while they were at the hospital. Sam pressed a worried hand to his face, to his neck, then nodded, insisting on driving back to the motel. Dean let him, though surprisingly he wasn't feeling that bad.

"How long was I out?"

"Well, when you said you'd scope out the building, I gave you 15 minutes. Then I called and your phone went straight to voicemail."

Dean chuckled. "You're like an overprotective girlfriend," he said, then immediately wished he hadn't. His heart ached enough already without making a mockery of his and Sam's... whatever they had here, whatever had been absent in Dean's fantasy world.

Sam was staring at him in a soft, almost sad way. He looked sort of angelic. Dean had the powerful urge to grab his face and kiss him, which wouldn't be the greatest idea since Sam was driving and Dean wasn't feeling 100% fantastic at the moment, but God, he wanted to feel Sam's skin on his, wanted to bury himself inside his brother as if that would bring them closer, somehow. The spell the djinn cast had been too superficial.

He couldn't believe he was even thinking this crap, so he muttered, "Eyes on the road, Evel Knievel."

Sam cleared his throat. "Anyway, it took me more than an hour and a half to find you, so you were there about two hours."

"Only two hours?" Dean tried to do the math — if the djinn fed on people for a few days but it felt like a lifetime, then a few days in the djinn world would be like...

His head started to hurt so he stopped thinking about math.

He realized the car had stopped moving and they were sitting in front of the Illinois motel.  _We're not in Kansas anymore._ Fat raindrops pelted the roof, exploding on the glass, blurring the world around them. Sam made no move to get out, and nor did he. Since when were they scared of rain?

Still, it felt like something in him might break if Sam got out. But Sam didn't. After an awkward moment, Dean got on his knees on the front bench, tossing stuff around in the back until he found a bottle of whiskey.

He sat back down with a satisfying swish of leather-on-leather, uncorked the bottle, and took a long drink.

Sam snorted.

"What?"

"You're such a lousy drunk," he said, shoving Dean to the side a little.

"Am not," Dean scowled. "Anyway, I just lost a lot of blood."

"You lost like a pint," Sam corrected in his bitchiest voice.

"Yeah, well I feel like I was asleep for a month."

Sam's face got serious. "How long were you in there?"

Dean blinked hard. "Doesn't matter," he said.

Sam knew not to say anything else. As awesome as Carmen had been, nobody beat Sam. Dean found himself staring again.

"Dean," Sam said after a minute.

"Right." Dean handed Sam the bottle and, after pausing a second to mourn the loss of, well, everything, he stepped out into the rain.

...

...

Dean got out of the shower to find Sam holding up a towel for him.

"Don't fucking dote on me man, I just want to go to bed."

"Fine," Sam said. He turned and walked out of the bathroom without so much as checking Dean out, even though Dean was butt naked and dripping wet. Dean had to admit that was a little unusual, since Sam was a total pervert like 99% of the time. As he stared through the empty doorway at the space where Sam had just been, he noticed a greasy paper bag that smelled like food sitting on the counter.

"Dude, you're the best," Dean said, and meant it.

"What's that?" Sam almost immediately reappeared in the doorway.

Dean felt irked for some reason. "Nothing," he said grumpily. He was still pretty shaken up by everything. He made sure the towel was secure around his waist then went to the door where Sam stood, making no effort to get out of the way for him. "Don't touch me," he warned, unnecessarily, since Sam had been avoiding physical contact lately.  _Until last night_. He put the thought out of his brain.

Sam held up his hands in a 'hands off' gesture, moving aside. His hair was freshly shampooed and his lips looked soft. Sam was kinda pretty when he thought about it hard. Anyway, he loved looking at him. For some reason this translated to him reaching out and touching Sam's hair. He cringed, knowing Sam would reject him, but Sam was just smiling in that knowing way that pissed Dean off.

"Dean, we really shouldn't," Sam sounded almost reluctant.

Dean caught his meaning, and said blankly, "You're right, we really can't."

"So, let's not." Sam said, though he was staring straight at him.

"Right, no." He stared back, transfixed by Sam's eyes. He didn't half believe the next words as they automatically passed his lips. "Definitely not."

They stared at one another for a long moment before Sam pushed Dean against the wall. Dean opened his mouth to the press of Sam's lips as Sam's hands slid down to his waist, lingering there an instant, fingers skimming through the water droplets on his stomach in a way that made his skin prick with gooseflesh, before coming up to clasp his face. Then Sam, though breathing heavily as if with great effort, kissed him sweetly, slowly.

When they finally broke apart, Sam held his face in his hands. He looked on the verge of saying something important, or something. And didn't he blink too hard?  _No way is he blinking back tears_ , Dean reassured himself, inwardly rolling his eyes but still shrinking back a little, involuntarily, because damn if there weren't too many feelings getting involved with this crap already.  _It's just sex to him. To both of us._ He summoned his last glimmer of shredded bravado and grinned, looking from one of Sam's eyes to the other as he spoke. "Well, look at you. Next thing you know you'll be spouting off lines like 'Till death do us part _—_ '"

Sam pulled his towel off roughly and Dean vaguely wished he hadn't drank half the bottle of whiskey while Sam was in the shower but he could still appreciate how Sam was kissing him like he'd been missing out on months of it, and, God help him, Dean was kissing him back the same exact way.

...

He shuddered helplessly. The heavy heat and speed of it had been, in his delayed (and admittedly intoxicated) state, overwhelming. When he caught his breath he muttered, "We shouldn'ta done that."

"You're telling me," Sam retorted with a slight scoff, getting up on one elbow beside him. "It's good to have you back," he said pensively, frowning, laying an affectionate hand on the side of Dean's face, running his thumb over Dean's lips, then looking back into his eyes. "Dean, I _—_ "

Wanting nothing less than to hear what Sam was about to say, Dean chose the moment to pull Sam down and kiss him on the mouth.

Sam kissed him back enthusiastically, then stopped.

"What."

Sam just narrowed his eyes.

"What's wrong with you?"

Sam shook his head a little, as if in disbelief. The silence dragged on like a giant vacancy until Dean realized he'd been staring at that strange, hypnotic steadiness in Sam's eyes again.

Then Sam smiled, revealing those pretty teeth that had caught Dean's lip moments before. Sam suddenly felt heavy against his chest.

"You ready to go again?"

Dean was startled by the forwardness of the question, but recovered quickly. "Hell yeah I can go again."

He held his breath as Sam entered him.

...

The motion stopped; it felt full and weird. "Sam," he growled.

"Ssh, shut up." Sam pushed his shoulders down and stared at him in a way that put butterflies in his stomach.

"Get your hands off me," Dean grumbled, trying to shove him away. Then, "Dude, what?"

Sam leaned over him and pressed a few slow kisses against his cheek. Dean turned towards him and Sam nuzzled his nose like a puppy, like he always did.  _Freaking moron_ , Dean thought. He sighed and looked at the ceiling. "God you're such a girl," he muttered.

"Hey Dean?" Sam was giving him that strange look again.

"Yeah?"

He clasped his hand against the side of Dean's neck and whispered something in his ear. Dean heard " _—_ always you _—"_  and his brain refused to process the rest. Before he could think of something to say, Sam had picked up the pace.

His heart was going so fast he thought he might cry.

...


	33. S2E20

[Set after Season 2, Ep. 20 - "What Is and What Should Never Be"]

...

"Shit!" Sam heard the whispered curse as a hand shoved him back into an alcove between an ice machine and a painted wall splattered with something sticky.

"Dean what the—"

Dean's covered his mouth with both hands.

Sam gave him a questioning look, not sure why they were hiding in a  _Gas-n-Sip._

Dean's voice was low, close to his ear. "It's the men with the badges, Sammy."

_Perfect timing._ Their police scanner had mentioned the fugitives that morning.

Dean looked up at Sam, eyes bright, half-grinning.  _He's enjoying this_ , Sam thought with annoyance. He opened his mouth to speak but Dean covered it again, winking at him. Sam seethed. His brother's grin just got wider.

He didn't hear anything for a moment, and wanted to take a look. With his hands, he tried to get Dean to turn sideways so he could scoot by him. Dean held him back with a hand on his chest, then, with some effort, turned to look out himself, scrunching his shoulders as they slid against the walls. Two grown men couldn't fit comfortably in a space this size. He peered around the corner, half-lit by a flickering bulb, then withdrew into the shadows.

"You do realize we look  _more_  suspicious now, right?" Sam kept his voice barely audible, which was fine, because Dean's ear was inches away.

"Well what was I supposed to do?" he murmured, still apparently calm despite his argumentative tone. "I'm just an average guy, but you? Man you're like freaking King Kong..." He trailed off as a pair of voices got closer, stepping back out of the triangle of light, pressing his back against Sam's chest.

Sam's breath caught. He resisted the urge to do something stupid, focusing on the gap of light beyond Dean's spiky hair. He wondered if his brother could feel his racing heartbeat through the back of his shirt. He wondered if Dean would know why his heart was racing.

A voice around the corner called, "Hey, George, hold up a minute. The other boys are getting off soon, what's say we meet them out front?"

_Great_ , Sam thought, not sure how long they'd be stuck behind the stupid ice machine. Owing to their proximity and an unfortunate amount of physical contact, his more idiotic half was becoming aroused. If they didn't move soon, Dean would feel it against his ass. He shut his eyes in frustration.

They listened as one man complained to the other about his wife. Apparently they were buying beer, about to go watch a football game.

"Cops have fun?" He heard Dean utter in mock-amazement, craning his neck as if a glimpse of the scene would clear up his confusion. Sam held him back with an arm around his chest.

"Ssh, shut up," he said against the side of Dean's head.

Dean dug his elbow into Sam's ribs, twisting away. Sam would've backed up to give him room, but his own back was already wedged between the corner of the building and the overwarm grate covering the machine's inner workings.

Dean turned, regarding Sam over his shoulder. His smile was gone. He looked a little scared, mostly blank. Sam realized with a twinge that Dean probably wasn't afraid of the cops.

Thinking to wordlessly change the subject, he scanned the wedge of store visible from their corner. Spying the light from an exit sign, he gestured towards a door frame leading out of the opposite side of the building.

Dean shook his head. "Too far," he murmured. Then, leering up at him, he added, "Be patient, Sasquatch. If I wind up buying porn with loose cigarettes for the rest of my life, I'm blaming you."

Sam glared at him for the insinuation, but as Dean shifted against him, still taunting him with his eyes, pretty lips twisted into a smirk, a spasm of arousal made the bulge in his jeans harder, impossible to ignore.

Dean's eyes widened, and he turned away.

They both stood stock-still with their hands in their pockets, staring straight ahead, pretending they weren't in such a ridiculous situation. At length, the cops left, but their faces flashed on the evening news as they paid for food and gas. To Sam's chagrin, though the clerk wasn't looking at the television, his eyes were lingering on Dean. They left through the front doors, and quickly changed directions as they noted several Crown Vics parked around the side of the building, apparently heedless of the Impala parked less than ten feet from them.  _At least there's that,_ Sam thought bitterly. It'd be hard for them to hit the road if cops recognized the car, and he saw the wisdom of changing the license plates immediately after they'd left the Green River County Detention Center.

By silent agreement, they wandered away from the building, heading down an alley behind a neighboring strip mall, and sat down on a long concrete ledge that surrounded a bed of mulch, useless to its dead flowers. Dean rifled through the bag of groceries at his feet, tossing Sam a small, crinkly package. "Dinner," he explained.

"Gummy bears? Seriously?"

Dean shrugged. "Here, see who can catch more with their mouth."

Sam shook his head. "I should never let you buy food."

"Ah, shit, I forgot the pie," Dean said, as if suddenly remembering. He flashed Sam a daring smile. "Wanna go back and get it for me?"

"Shut up," Sam shoved him, trying not to smile. "Okay, here, open up."

Dean backed up a few feet and opened his mouth. He caught the first three, but the fourth hit him in the eye, and he tackled Sam, grappling with him like they used to do when they were kids, with Sam mostly squirming, trying to get away. Dean let him up with a laugh and Sam got to his feet, trying to brush the mulch out of his hair. "I hate you," he pouted, as Dean laughed his ass off.

"God, Sammy," he said, wiping his eyes as if the sight of his brother, frowning at a wilted flower petal he'd pulled out of his hair, was the funniest thing in the world, "Don't ever change."

Sam plopped down next to him so their shoulders were touching, trying to memorize the sparkle of happiness that had filled Dean's eyes. For a moment, he'd forgotten he was going to die. As Dean's chuckles subsided, they looked out over the bleak parking lot together, wishing they were somewhere else, but only provided that wouldn't require their separation.

As the sun set, casting the sky in greens and reds, they drank and bantered about stupid things, disagreeing on almost everything from music to food to politics. They probably stayed away longer than they needed to to avoid the cops, and by the time they decided to head back it was very dark.

The moon came out and they walked in the natural silence that follows good conversation.

When they reached the far end of the lot, Sam stopped walking, feeling the coming change. "Dean?" he said hesitantly.

"Yeah, Sam."

As the clouds shifted, the moonlight suddenly brightened, revealing their expressions.

Dean kept smiling, but Sam saw the wary hesitation in his eyes. "What's with you lately?"

"Dean, I—" Sam paused, nearly ready to tell him everything, realizing his brother was in for a world of hurt either way. But there was something in the way Dean was looking at him that made it impossible for Sam to lay that burden on him. So he said, "I'm fine," with some air of certainty.

Dean scowled. "All right, cut the crap, Sam. I know that face. There's something you're not telling me."

Not even sure what he planned on saying until it was out of his mouth, Sam blurted, "Dean, it's just... God, I wish we could stop pretending, you know? Just for the next couple days, until..."

"Until?"

Sam didn't even try to reply.

"All right, whatever." And with that, Dean turned and walked away.

Sam followed at a distance. As they neared the  _Gas-n-Sip,_ Sam saw a policeman through the front window, talking to the sales clerk who had rung them up.

"Dean!" he hissed, but too late.

A man, out of uniform, had started, "Hey, aren't you that—"

Dean—never one to act rashly—punched him in the face before he could finish his thought. The cop reeled, grabbing his bloody nose, and his friends, pulling up with their lights flashing, were quick to surround Dean, bending him over their cruiser and cuffing his hands behind his back. Sam winced, watching from the shadows of the garage.

A tall officer with a brown handlebar mustache nodded at the shop window, presumably to the clerk, then spoke: "Dean Winchester you're under arrest for... well, pretty much everything. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law."

Dean grinned at the officer. "Well aren't you a bundle of joy."

"Get in," another man grumbled, shoving him into the car.

...

Sam waited the long hour until the town fell asleep, then used the GPS on his phone to locate the station. He had to hotwire the Impala, which Dean wouldn't be too happy about, but naturally, Dean had the keys.

After only a moment of indecision, Sam changed into his suit.

He scoped out the building carefully. Seeing no federal vehicles, he cut the lights and pulled into a spot behind the back door. He located the security room with its second exit, checked for external cameras, then gently picked the lock. Fortunately, he found the guard asleep at the monitors. Sam edged around him and, after surveying the station through the security cameras (four officers, one asleep in the lounge, one at a front desk by the holding cells, and two processing paperwork in cubicles near the rear, probably out of earshot of the others), clipped the cords feeding images to the computer. He edged around the man again, and pulled the door against its frame behind himself, not latching it. Then he made his way around the building, trying to will a look of confidence onto his face.

He walked through the front door like he owned the place, and, seeing the cop with the handlebar mustache, flashed his FBI badge, too fast for the man to read that it actually said  _Hendrix._ "I'm Special Agent Victor Henriksen," he said with an air of authority. "I hear you've apprehended Dean Winchester. Why didn't you contact me immediately?"

The man blinked at him, getting to his feet. "I'm sorry, Mr.— uh, Mr. Henderson, but we figured we'd wait until morning..."

Sam mentally sighed with relief—Henriksen wasn't on their trail yet. "Well you figured wrong." He squared up to the man, who, though tall, was several inches shorter than Sam. He was about to order the man take him to Dean's cell when the man's eyes widened with recognition.

"Wait a minute, aren't you—"

Sam kneed him in the gut, taking him down, then, apologizing profusely as the man grunted in pain, handcuffed him to his own station, yanking the phone out of the wall and taking the radio and keys from his belt. Then he snagged the envelope by the desk that had Dean's name on it, ripping it open to find Dean's phone and car keys.

Knowing he had a matter of minutes, if that, before someone sounded the alarm, he wasted no time in locating the holding cells.

Dean was one of two prisoners; the other was an old man who watched Sam with pale, creepy eyes. Sam didn't actually know how well people could see through cataracts, and hurried to unlock Dean's cell. They'd slipped through the back door and into the Impala before Sam tossed Dean the officer's keys so he could unlock his handcuffs.

"About damn time," Dean griped. "I don't know about you, Sam, but I ain't into bondage."

Sam gave him a pained look. He was torn between the temptation to punch Dean himself and the urge to lick his split lip. Instead he peeled out of the parking lot, heading for the highway.

...


	34. Prevailing Winds

[Set between Episodes 20 & 21—Season 2]

...

After several harrowing days, the Impala pulled up to an abandoned farmhouse in Minnesota. Dean seemed thoroughly amused by the fact that their trip to the grocery store was preceded by a recon mission, but Sam was just tired. He was tired of the law, tired of all the crap, tired of worrying Dean would get locked up where Sam would never see him again. They were good, but now they had to be perfect. The plan was to lay low for a while, then try and get across the border into Canada. Sam had a feeling something would go wrong.

Dean had fashioned a kitchen table from some scrap wood they found on the farm, and for the quick job he made of it, the table wasn't half bad. Sort of like that crappy little wooden soldier Dean had whittled for him when he was a kid.  _He's good with his hands,_ Sam thought vaguely. The thought squeezed his heart as Dean clanked cans of food on the table he'd made.

"Hey Sammy, do you want beefaroni or beef noodles?" Dean squinted at the cans. "Wait, what's the difference?"

"You pick," Sam said quietly.

"Beefaroni sounds cooler." Dean frowned at the can he'd selected for a moment, before glancing at Sam. "You okay?"

Sam set his jaw. "Yeah, I am."  _Nope, definitely not._

Dean dropped the can on the table and ambled over to Sam, holding eye contact the whole time. "Hey, Sam," he said. His voice sounded oddly gentle. "You know I can't cook worth crap, right?" He reached for Sam almost tentatively, clapping a palm against the side of Sam's neck, pulling him close. His green eyes scanned Sam's and his brow crinkled with worry. "So you gonna help me, or what?"

Sam blinked back tears. "Yeah, I'll help you, Dean." He wanted to kiss him.

"Attaboy," Dean grinned and tapped his knuckles affectionately against Sam's chin. Sam pouted. Dean looked into his eyes for another few seconds, then turned away.

"Hey see if you can find a pot or something," Dean called. Sam heard several small crashes as Dean rifled through the storage room. The kitchen was still fairly well stocked — Sam found some mugs and several large pots, two of which he hauled outside to get water from the pump. Irritated, he stood by the pump in the cold April night air, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. He could see Dean's shadow crossing the kitchen window in the flickering candlelight.

He saw a bright flash from the kitchen window and rushed to it, upsetting the near-full pot of water at his feet. Dean was right inside, smirking, apparently unscathed.

He yanked up on the old window. "Gas still works," he explained to Sam, wiggling his eyebrows. Sam glared back. "Cold out there," Dean observed.

Sam nodded towards the large pots of water. "I'll be right back."

He slopped the water all over the floor as he slid the door shut to keep the warm air in the kitchen. Dean smiled at him. "Be my sweet Indian maiden?" he teased.

"Ha, ha."

"Oh, but you have to carry one pail of water on your head."

"Retard."

Dean shoved a giant spoon in his face. "See if that's done," he gestured towards the pot of beefy noodle goo. "We should bust into that lock under the house and see if we can get the water on," he said idly, fiddling with the unresponsive tap.

Sam tested the mushy concoction. "It's still cold," he said flatly.

"That means you're cooking it wrong," Dean said with a mischievous grin. "Here, I'll show you."

Sam rolled his eyes but froze as Dean got between him and the stove. The fabric on Dean's ass slid against the front of his pants. Sam gulped.

"Dean-"

"Dude, don't you dare make this weird."

After a second, Sam realized Dean wasn't pulling away. He let out the breath he was holding in, wrapping his arms around Dean's body and pulling him close, kissing the back of his head. If Dean was surprised, he didn't show it, and after letting Sam squeeze the air out of his lungs for a moment he dropped his arms over Sam's in the perfect way so that Sam could lace their fingers together. He pulled his hips back a little, to make things less obvious, and murmured, "Love you, Dean," inaudibly against Dean's spiky hair.

After a minute, Dean pulled away. "Did you say something?"

"Nope."

"Liar. Look it's getting hot. Stir it up, Sammy."

Sam flicked sauce at him. Dean responded by snapping a towel at his ass.

...

"Every goddamn time," Dean complained from upstairs. He clomped down the stairs heavily and gave Sam a shrug. "You'd think a house this big would have more than one mattress."

"I'll sleep on the floor," Sam said without hesitation.

"Shut up, no you won't."

_Calm the fuck down,_  Sam reminded himself. "Okay, I'll be right up."

Dean extinguished most of the candles in the kitchen by pinching them, carrying two upstairs and leaving Sam with one flickering beam of light. Sam dragged one of the pots of water out to the kitchen stoop and splashed water on his face, then brushed his teeth in the freezing air.

...

Dean was already lying down. Sam blew out the candles and settled against his back, pushing his knees into the backs of Dean's legs and wrapping his arm around him, resting his hand against Dean's thudding heart.

He half-expected Dean to yell at him or pull away, but Dean just settled back against his chest and whispered, "'Night Sammy."

Sam squeezed him hard. "'Night Dean."

They couldn't have been asleep for more than an hour when Dean sat bolt upright, teeth chattering. "Why is it so freaking cold?"

Sam rubbed his eyes. "I dunno, Dean," he yawned, "maybe because it's early spring in Minnesota?" Sam had noted half-melted drifts of snow covering the fields as they'd driven up.

"Yeah, yeah. Go find a blanket."

Sam's chest bumped into Dean's shoulder blades as he sat up. "You have matches?" Sam felt a hand against the front of his jeans. "Whoa, Dean..."

"No, but..." Dean pulled something from his pocket. "You do."

Sam wandered down the hall, cobwebs casting eerie shadows against the ceiling in the flickering candlelight. The door to another room stood open, and what he saw in it made him stop in his tracks.

Situated in the middle of the room, in a way that Dean couldn't have missed, was another, larger mattress. Sam grinned, and decided not to mention it.

He found a large, synthetic blanket in one of the closets. It seemed fairly clean and didn't have bugs in it, which was a good sign. He carried it back to the room, shaking some of the dust out. It billowed around him in a cloud. He sneezed. Dean laughed at him. "You're a dick," he observed with a sniff, eyes watering.

"And you're a pansyass bitch," Dean returned easily, waiting for Sam to pull him close under the blanket before settling back against his chest.

...

This time, they didn't even catch forty winks.

Sam opened his eyes to darkness. He felt the heat of Dean's body against him, then the prick of impaired circulation from one arm. He lifted his head off his hand—must've fallen asleep like that—and blinked. Dean was resting his cheek against the inside of Sam's folded arm. He realized vaguely that he had no desire to disturb Dean by moving.

But he grew restless. One of Dean's legs had worked its way between his knees, Dean's shoulders pressed flush against his chest, his awkward boner shoved against the back of Dean's thighs. His other hand had crept under all Dean's layers, and he spread his fingers against his brother's stomach, thinking how odd it would be to die, and how much he'd like to leave some good memory behind. Dean stirred, turned over in his arms, breath ghosting against Sam's mouth, and Sam gave in to the overpowering urge to kiss him. Dean's eyes fluttered open for a moment. Then he turned away without fully waking, pulling Sam's hand to rest on his stomach again. Sam got up on his elbow, kissing the back of his ears, the side of his neck, his cheek.

"S'm." Dean shut his eyes more tightly, but turned his face up so their mouths met. Sam kissed him more forcefully as the familiar burning built in his gut. Dean opened to him as he deepened the kiss, then threw him off with a grunt. In an instant they were on their knees facing one another. Sam grabbed the front of Dean's shirt at the same moment that Dean grabbed his, and their eyes met, adjusting to the night. Dean's face was cast in grey-green shadows from the bare window. When they moved again it was into a hard, biting kiss that had Sam shoving Dean back against the mattress. For a few breathless minutes their hands roved over one another, pulling away clothes and rubbing rough over less-worn skin. They half-tussled, half-groped each other in the dark, hearts beating loudly and breath coming sharp and ragged against the rural silence.

Dean was grinding against him, pretty lips brushing Sam's face, kissing his jaw.

"Dean—"

"Mm?"

"Let me fuck you."

Dean glowered. "Well don't sugarcoat it, Sam."

"I'm sorry."

"No, no. Listen up."

Sam paused obediently.

After a long moment, Dean spoke slowly, cringing at his own words. "If I can...  _stop pretending for a couple days_ ," he sighed, rolling his eyes with mock indifference, "Then... you'll tell me what's up?"

"What's up?"

"Yeah, you know, with the dreary music and the forlorn glances and the— the fucking  _angst_ , Sam!" Then in a softer voice he added, "come on, you're killing me man."

Sam nodded, but bit the inside of his cheek. He wasn't sure he could promise it—he wasn't even sure how he could say it and bear the look on his brother's face. Perhaps his dying wish would be to never see that look.

"Okay then," Dean said with quiet resolution, pulling Sam down for a long, sweet kiss.

...

They didn't make it to Canada, of course. They found a case, and Dean, not knowing what Sam knew, decided to take it. Sam didn't want to test fate any more than he already had, and said nothing.

He knew when it was going to happen — they'd be outdoors, probably hunting. He'd at least have some warning.

"Why is there a red light here?" Dean gestured to the empty intersection, stopping anyway.

Sam felt him take his foot off the brake. He put a hand on Dean's chest. "Wait."

Dean braked again. "You're right," he squinted into the fog. "Not worth getting pulled for that. But dude, I don't see  _anything_."

"Dean," Sam murmured, leaning over and brushing his nose against Dean's ear. Dean turned, bumping his nose into Sam, letting Sam slide their lips together. Sam wanted a goodbye kiss, and Dean wasn't pushing him away.

"Thanks," he whispered.

"Sammy you feeling alright?"

Sam beamed, and said truthfully, "Never better."

Dean cleared his throat and sped through the green light.

...


	35. S2E21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this chapter could have been written more carefully, but I wanted to get it out fast. I don't know if anyone's still reading this. 2 chapters remain.
> 
>  
> 
> I still hope I captured that feeling of impotence, when someone you love needs help but you don't know where the fuck they even _are_

[Set during Season 2, Ep. 21 - "All Hell Breaks Loose (Part 1)"]

...

Sam shuffled his feet all the way into the diner, scowling about Dean's stupid ordering him around. Of course he planned on getting Dean whatever he wanted, because it was nice when Dean smiled... his eyes got all crinkly and—

Suddenly the cashier's neck was spurting blood. Sam didn't even have time to swear about it.

In a flash, he was hauled out the back door and pinned against the building. He quickly assessed the situation. Four demons. One had yellow eyes.

"Now we can do this the easy way or the hard way," the Yellow-Eyed Demon said in a conversational tone.

Sam opened his mouth to speak, but the Yellow-Eyed Demon held up a hand and Sam found his throat paralyzed.

"Now, Sam. I know who's waiting for you in the car." Yellow Eyes leaned in close, voice low and threatening. "You wouldn't want me to mess up your brother's pretty face, would you?"

Sam rolled his eyes. Dean could probably take care of himself.

The Yellow-Eyed Demon shrugged. "Suit yourself," he said pleasantly. Then with a flash of insight and a winning smile, he added, "Maybe I'll strangle him with his own intestines!"

Sam began to struggle violently.

"Ah, yes. You saw what I did to Ava's fiance, didn't you?"

Sam winced.

"Unfortunate. That was... not my best work, but I promise, I can put more... _effort_ into killing Dean. Pity, though, for your brother to die, when it's really you I want."

The Yellow-Eyed Demon looked at him expectantly. Sam nodded.

"So what'll it be, Sam?"

Sam tried to speak but nothing came out.

"Oh yes, I almost forgot." The Yellow-Eyed Demon waved his hand and Sam's voice returned.

"Sam!" he could hear Dean shouting inside. "Sammy?! SAM!" He sounded on the verge of panic. But then, Dean was always the first to know when something was really fucking wrong.

Sam inhaled sharply. "Yeah," he choked out, "I'll come quietly. Please... leave him out of this."

"Atta boy," the Yellow-Eyed Demon said encouragingly. Sam opened his mouth to ask what was going to happen but found he couldn't talk again. The Yellow-Eyed Demon regarded him sympathetically. "Don't worry, when you wake up you won't remember a thing," he cooed.

He struck Sam over the head with the butt of his own gun, and everything went black.

...

* * *

"Sam, I swear to god," he murmured to the empty air, "Every time I turn around and you're gone..."

Bobby picked up. "Dean?"

"Sam's gone."

"Again?"

"Yeah," Dean answered automatically, then thought about it. "No! I mean, he got taken."

"Taken? As in kidnapped?"

"Look, Bobby, he didn't just leave, all right? I've got a diner full of dead people, and we're out in the middle of nowhere and— _he got taken_."

"All right, take it easy. What do you know?"

"A whole lotta nothing. I mean there's sulfur, but no sign of anyone. They were fast, Bobby, I mean I looked away for an instant and he- he just-"

A blip of static echoed through the receiver. Bobby's voice sounded tinny. "You're sure he's not in the area?"

Dean scanned the dark horizon. He didn't see or hear _anything,_ not even crickets or the whisper of wind. He felt utterly alone in a way that made him feel certain Sam couldn't possibly be on the same planet. "I'll look around, but I don't think he's here, Bobby," he said quietly.

"All right, you take a gander, then if you don't find him, Dean, you _get out_ , you understand me? Don't sit around waiting for Sam to come back." Bobby was giving him a common-sense warning, but Dean thought he heard a note of fear in Bobby's voice that made his skin crawl.

He squeezed his eyes shut. "Yeah, okay. All right."

"Can you make it to Sioux Falls?"

Dean hesitated, tempted to do exactly what Bobby had warned him not to and wait for Sam. But if Sam needed finding, that wouldn't do much good. "Yeah. I'll be there by morning."

He hung up and peeled out of the lot, heading for South Dakota. It felt weird, like he was abandoning Sam, somehow. By morning the diner would be swarming with cops, and he wouldn't have another chance to look it over. Which was important, especially if it was the last-

He made a u-turn so fast that his back tires fishtailed. _Guess it's worth seeing if I missed anything,_ he thought, gritting his teeth.

He combed over the place, inch by inch, and found nothing. Sulfur out the back, but only swamp behind, and that glinted stagnant in the moonlight. Still, he waded out into it, yelling Sam's name for a good five minutes until he was completely hoarse.

Nothing moved. He slopped back through the carnage of the diner empty-handed.

Ignoring the heavy deja-vu, he collapsed, sweating, into the passenger's seat. The night had become oppressively hot and humid over the past half-hour. He pulled his wet boots off and punched on the AC, leaning against the cool window, only to recoil from it—somehow the lifeless glass seemed to retain the scent of Sam's shampoo.

How was it that Sam had disappeared and left no clues behind?

He slammed the door, got in the driver's side. Peeled off his outer layers. The amulet thumped against his chest.

He pressed his lips together—man, if he wasn't tempted to stay here all night after all—and kicked the car into gear, backing out slowly. He braked, scanning the diner again as if he might recognize some higher answer from this distance.

The flourescent lights just winked at him.

He pulled off 50 miles later to get gas. Checked his cell phone.

No missed calls, just DEAN WINCHESTER IS A UNICORN from when Sam jacked up his phone.

"Sammy, where are you?" he whispered into the endless night.

...


	36. (Dream 2)

...

Dean starts awake, eyes watering at the blinding light above his head. He shades them and blinks fast, trying to make out the figure standing—sitting—beside him.

She waits.

The light winks out and the stars fade, taking with them that clear blue presence he associates with sparks and fire and cold, dark nights— _something in him aches, longing to chase after it, and_ would, _he thinks, if he knew where it ran off to_ —but the person at his bedside is coming into focus now.

"Missouri?" he mumbles.

"You're gonna want to cover your eyes, boy," she says gently.

"When—"

"—you wake up. Don't worry about a thing now." She smiles at him a little. Then she adds more brusquely, "Now sit up and lemme look at you."

"What're you doing here?" He starts to rise, still confused— _must have crashed on Bobby's couch last night_ —when a heavy book slides off his stomach. It hits the floor with a thud, and he nearly jumps out of his skin.

Missouri regards him with concern. "Oh, honey, you're so pale. You been eating properly?"

Dean thinks about it. He  _might_  have drunk his dinner the previous night on the road, then skidded into the Singer Salvage Yard just before sunrise to start poring over books in Bobby's library at random. God, he didn't even know where to fucking  _start_. Which means—

_Sam's missing. Demon took him. Sammy's gone._

"—down to business, then, I guess," Missouri's saying, pursing her lips. She chooses her next words carefully: "Now don't grab me, Dean... It's about Sam."

"Sammy? Do you know something? What the hell happened? Missouri you've gotta—"

"One thing at a time, Dean," she says pointedly, and he realizes he's gripping her arms. She waits for him to release her before she speaks again.

"I haven't felt him lately, and that got me worried. It's been a while though, I've been feeling his energy. And Dean? He is  _powerful_."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Boy wonder, dreams the future, the whole... Haley-Joel-shtick. But what does that—"

"Not just the dreams, Dean. Oh, but I would have told you earlier... I just get so sick with it..." She kneads her forehead, and that's when he really looks at her: she's thinner, hair shocked the color of steel, mouth set in a hard line—he must've been pretty out of it when he woke up, because she looks entirely different than he remembers—almost unrecognizable.

His anxiety must show on his face, because she smiles, placating, and says "Now don't you go worrying about me, boy. You've got bigger fish to fry. When you and your brother came back to Lawrence, I could tell—felt him from a hundred miles off—Sam was the most powerful psychic I'd met. More powerful than  _I'll_  ever be," she adds, a touch rueful. "But he's stronger now. And it's not just the dreams."

"What do you mean?"

"I wish I knew," she says quietly. "But something bad's coming. Something evil... And your brother's got darkness in him." She cups his cheek, then, eyes full of sorrow. "Dean, honey...  _don't let him hurt you_."

Dean stops leaning into her touch—goes stiff. "Sam would never hurt me."

She just nods like she doesn't believe him. He's about to jump to his brother's defense when she speaks again, cutting him off. "I think Sam's powerful enough that  _he_ can contact  _you_ , demon or no demon."

...


	37. -S2E21-

...

_BRIGHT light. Blinding._

Dean sat up with a start, heavy book sliding off his stomach and hitting the floor with a thud. He nearly jumped out of his skin, cracking his head against the windowsill behind him. Stars swam in front of his eyes.

"Mother _fucker_ ," he groaned, rubbing his head.

It was a dark morning, raining—pouring really—and Bobby was shining a flashlight in his eyes.

"Power's out," he grunted.

They stood in the dim morning, squinting at an empty map. For some reason, they couldn't find one fucking lead. The raindrops cooled Dean's aching head as they trickled between his hair, which only started a deeper throb, behind his eyes. When Ash finally returned his call, Dean nearly dropped his phone in his haste to answer it.

...

He couldn't honestly say whether he was more disappointed to find Ash dead for Ash's sake, or for his brother's. But then the vision came—split his aching head right open—and it stopped mattering.

Bobby rested a hand on his arm, a light warning to slow down. Dean ignored him. Even so, night had fallen by the time they arrived in Cold Oak.

...


End file.
